We Are Bulletproof

A nap did Jack some good. With the nap, the vestiges of damage done by the wine were completely gone. He woke feeling oddly... free. No nightmares clung to him like cobwebs, no sense of dread. He almost forgot that he'd cried on his first date with Brayden. And then he remembered and part of him wanted to sink through the bed and die.

It helped that he woke up curled up beside Brayden. He had really taken the whole going to bed alone thing pretty hard for a while. Bringing home anybody that caught his eye... going home with anybody that caught his eye. Just to have somebody to sleep with, somebody to wake up next to, never mind whether or not they gave two shits about him. Half the time, Jack admittedly gave few shits about them.

Dinner was a simple enough affair. Jack cooked up a meal for the two of them and they talked, some of the things were the regular topics: work, observations about the neighbor kids, jokes about how their last card game went and how it might fare better next time. They touched upon the family thing. Not very deeply but it was out there now and it was cautious going but... Jack tentatively talked about his mother's addictions and then the women who ended up becoming his real role models, the reason he became a professor in the first place.

It felt... good. It felt normal. For once in his life, he wasn't putting on a big show and he hadn't realized just how exhausting it really was to hold onto all of that for so long. It was a relief to be able to share some of his life with somebody. For as long as he could remember, he held it so close to his chest that it strangled him. Almost nightly, he was plagued by nightmares, some from his childhood, some from the consequences of that childhood. One day, he thought, he would be able to share everything and he hoped... that it wouldn't crush Brayden with the weight that threatened to kill Jack all this time.

But he was in a much better place, after dinner, as he slid his arms into a thicker coat than the one he'd worn on their date. He still took care with his appearance. It didn't matter if it was just the two of them up there on that ridge. Jack still had to look good. His clothing, while more practical for their hike up the ridge, was still fanciful. But Jack was still Jack. Even if he wore the clothes like armor, he liked them.

He filled a bag with various items to take up with them, like a blanket and a thermos of Brayden's soup, and... He almost added a flask of alcohol but decided against it, setting it on the counter beside the variety of glass bottles instead. Slipping the bag's strap over his shoulder, he ushered Brayden out the door with him.

"Come on, the uber's waiting!" Jack was actually excited for this. He'd never been up hiking on the ridge before but Brayden made it sound wonderful.

Bray had never taken a nap this close to bedtime before, as his tightly regulated life revolved around a certain routine. Usually he didn't nap after 1pm to avoid being too awake to sleep later. Being with Jack broke that wide open; he found himself collapsing into bed with his lover late in the afternoon and slipping his arms around him, protectively drawing him close. With Bray's arms around him, Jack's sleep seemed less turbulent. He woke up once or twice and blearily checked on Jack but if he had any nightmares, they weren't half as violent as the ones Bray had experienced.

Reassured that Jack was fine, Bray finally fell asleep and he didn't wake up until he was shaken awake. He sat bolt upright muttering something about fairy wine, which probably didn't make any sense to Jack. Not a nightmare that involved him, just something he heard. Hunters. Trophy hunters. Making wine from fairies. The absolute savagery of that really shook Bray to the core, so it clung to his unconscious mind as well.

His bad dreams were easily shaken off, though, and he was fine by the time he splashed some water on his face and went out to help Jack with dinner. 'Help' meant handing him things and being allowed to chop some onions. Hey, Bray was good with onions--didn't cry, never cried. His chicken soup had lots of onions in it too, so he had grown used to the sting.

But he may or may not have teased Jack about the whole... crying on the first date thing. Even if Bray himself also cried at points, moved to tears by Jack's stories about his past.

They were mushy, no getting around that! Bray didn't mind it, though; he was taught by his parents that emotions were good things, and that crying was a release for the torments of the soul. Wise words, he thought, so he was never ashamed to shed a tear on behalf of someone else. (But never for himself; he didn't go in for self-pity.)

After dinner, he popped around to his own place to grab a jacket and paused by his own couch. Bray smiled as he pulled the fleece blanket off of it, thinking that an extra layer of comfort never hurt. With it folded neatly under his arm, he hurried back to Jack's place in time to see him packing up the soup and also eyed him as his hand inched toward a flask of alcohol. Bray didn't say anything but maybe the hopeful look on his face helped to dissuade Jack--hopeful that he didn't feel the need to turn to his old friends when he had perfectly good new friends. Like card games. And scarring small children in the park with PDAs.

"Don't forget your keys!" Bray cautioned on the way out, now hyper-aware of keys ever since locking himself out. He flashed Jack a knowing grin, though--Jack forgot his keys too. As they bundled themselves into the car, Bray glanced outside at the night sky; it was a clear and beautiful night and stars were already beginning to shine through. Good! He nestled up against Jack's side as they rolled away, and chattered about constellations and told a story about how he managed to get himself un-lost one time by navigating using the stars the way his father taught him.

"...but you can't imagine how much trouble I was in when I got home, at four in the morning!" he sighed as they got out, and as he turned to the trail leading up to the summit of Eagle Ridge. It wasn't a long or difficult hike from here, though; the uber took them quite close. Bray slid his hand into Jack's and started up the winding trail, mindful that there were creatures out here and keeping his voice moderately low.

"There are wolves out here, but we should be safe. They're not--I mean they're wolves but they're shifters, you know?" He had been thinking about how to introduce Jack to this magical 'other' world of his for some time. Now seemed like a good time to do it, now that Jack had seen (and touched) his wings.

Jack gave Brayden a Look when he was reminded to bring his keys, patting his coat pockets to let them jingle and show Brayden they were there. Okay? He wasn't Brayden, all right? (Except that one time... when he came home and luckily left his lock picking set with Brayden. Otherwise, yeah, he would have been fucked--but it wasn't because he forgot them inside the house... rather... he forgot them at the club. Not that this made it any better. Shush.)

What Jack liked most about Brayden's stories were how idyllic they were. He could even see little Brayden in his mind's eye. He could see him climbing around on his own, using the stars as his guide.

After they left the car behind with a wave, Jack felt Brayden slide his hand into his. He smiled. It was... comfortable. Cozy. He didn't smile so much when he heard there were wolves in the area. Nervously, he gave the trees around them a look. Wolves that were shifters, though. He didn't know why that should be any less dangerous but Brayden didn't seem worried so he shook out the tension in his shoulders.

"Shifters?" he hazarded the question. "There's a lot I don't know about this place, isn't there?"

Maybe the whole world, although he never knew any such things existed in Boston. Hard to believe they could, what with how densely populated it was. Cities seemed like a bad idea for magical creatures, so maybe they all congregated in tiny places like Hazleton.

Yes, there was a lot that Jack had yet to learn about Hazleton, but Bray and Marge could guide him. He only needed to be educated, to know the signs to watch out for, to be aware of some of the dangers, too, that lurked out here. Most people, though, only wanted to live in peace. They were all human for the most part, with their own small hopes and dreams, families and friends. They lived normal lives, were mostly peaceful, so there was nothing for Jack to fear.

"There is," he replied as he picked his way around a clump of weeds growing in the middle of the path, "but you'll get caught up in no time. Marge and I are always here if you have questions."

Marge who was... something. A seer, she said, which Bray took to mean a witch of some sort. She didn't elaborate, though, on her abilities and Bray was too polite (and too fearful of her) to push for details. Unfairly, she made him explain every single one of his abilities until she seemed satisfied, which made for a very uncomfortable moment with Allie nearby. Allie who was also a shifter, albeit a different kind than what Bray was used to.

Jack, he thought, was surrounded by magic and simply never knew it.

Bray lowered his voice a little more as they walked. "As long as you don't go around yelling about magic, though, you're okay. And you're human so hunters probably won't target you."

"I'm plenty crazy without raving about magic," he assured Brayden. "I won't be shouting about it any time soon."

But he was curious about it. He wanted to see it. Other than Brayden's true form, Jack didn't really know what magic looked like, if it looked like anything. It could be an invisible force, he supposed, like the wind. He thought about his students, wondering if any of them were magical creatures and he just didn't know. Then about their co-workers at the college. People he met at the grocery store. The owner of the Sunrise apartments. Their neighbors. Anybody could be anything.

Jack wasn't paranoid about it, but he was still intensely curious. Now everybody he met, he was going to wonder. And also wonder... why such magic existed in the world and here he was, without it. He could have used something like that growing up. Some kind of magic. Some kind of defense. Some way to get out of the life he lived a lot earlier, faster than he did.

"Oh, hold on a minute." Jack didn't stop walking but he did put up a hand as he turned to look at Brayden. "Hunters? Are they the ones making fairy wine? Marge told me about it... and I doubt other fairies are making it."

"Crazy beautiful," Bray supplemented, not being one who liked to hear others talk themselves down. Besides, Jack wasn't crazy. He was talented, gifted, intelligent—okay, okay, he could wax poetic all night but the point was, Jack was not crazy. And Bray knew he wouldn't do anything to endanger them on purpose, but certain things needed to be relayed to him, in the interests of making sure that they were all kept safe from hunters.

Bray did stop when told to hold on a minute—taking it very literally. When Jack didn't stop, he hastened to catch up the few steps he missed. "They are," he admitted sadly. "They're called trophy hunters, and they hunt for... sport. Like people do with deer or bears. Those are the worst ones. Others, they do it to protect humans from us but... but really we're not all dangerous."

Some were dangerous. Vampires could get a little big-headed about their roles in the world. Certain feral shifters—wolves—were uncontrollably violent during full moons but they had separate, closed off areas for shifting. And others perhaps had had enough of hiding and considered themselves the next rung in the evolutionary ladder.

Bray was merely content to live his life in peace, with no thoughts either way on the superiority of the species.

"I could never see you as dangerous," Jack said with a half smile. But he didn't like the idea of these... hunters. Killing for sport... He felt... uncomfortable talking about it. About killing people, even if they weren't... people, as such. Which... in all honesty, he couldn't really put together. Brayden was more human than anybody he'd ever known. Why kill that? Over wine? Disgusting.

"Listen..."

It seemed like. The Time. Like he should say something now, while the subject was already up in the air. Killing people. It whispered in the back of his head, like a song he couldn't forget. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. He wanted this for a little while longer. Just him and Brayden and not... that ugly secret.

"Listen," he said again, putting his free hand up to his ear. "Is that an owl?"

"I don't look dangerous now," Bray said with a secretive smile, "but wait till the full moon." During which absolutely nothing would happen, because he was a fairy and all he had that was dangerous was maybe the wings knocking something over if he wasn't careful. He could, though, do damage in dreams but he never wanted to use his abilities for evil—and never, ever against Jack.

"Hm? An owl?" Was there an owl nearby? Bray listened carefully. "Oh! Yeah, I think it's over there?" He pointed off to their left and sure enough, a dark shape swooped off the branches of a tree. Bray smiled; nighttime here in the woods could be pretty exciting too. His smile faded when he heard a small squeak and more wings flapping, and realized that the owl had just caught a mouse or rat for dinner...

He coughed. "Let's... keep walking, we're almost there." Better not stay around for too long. Nature could be beautiful, but also... incredibly cruel. It was only another five minutes' walk to the top of Eagle Ridge, and the trees thinned out to a stretch of grass and small bushes. Bray let out a delighted sound when he saw that no one else was there—sometimes couples liked to go up there to cozy up together, much in the same way that Bray was sure they would be doing soon.

"Here, this is the best spot." He led Jack over to a flat stretch with an unobstructed view of the skies. No trees nearby to drop dead leaves on them, either, and they were at a safe enough distance from the edge of the ridge.

"Oh?" He ran a hand thoughtfully over his chin. Brayden's secret smile told him nothing but he liked it. He liked it a lot. He wondered if Brayden knew the power of his smiles. People at work always said he was so quiet and a bit gloomy, that he never smiled. But the Brayden that Jack knew smiled all the time. Brayden didn't seem to have anything more to say about himself and the full moon, but Jack looked up to check. It wasn't full. Good...? Or bad...?

Thankfully, there actually was an owl hooting in the distance, so Jack didn't have to try and explain himself. He looked in the direction of the owl and he could hear a whooshing sound. Interesting. It was flying out here. Jack wondered what else was out on the ridge, if they would see bats or hear wolves howling. Brayden did say they were around.

"It's perfect." Jack walked slowly into the space with Brayden. It really was. The sky above them was wide open. It was so vast that it made Jack feel small. His problems were insignificant in the face of the universe. Looking back down, he let the bag slide off his shoulder and opened it up to bring out the blanket. He laid it over the ground and shoved the bag aside, so that it was near but not in the way. Then he stretched himself across the blanket, holding his hand out for Brayden to join him.

"You won't believe this but... I've never properly stargazed." He looked up, up, up into the dark sky, with all its tiny little pinpoints of light, each one a star. "It's so quiet out here. Nothing like a club or a bar..."

While Jack shook out the blanket, Bray unpacked their thermos of hot soup and also unfolded the second blanket that he'd brought for added warmth. Jack didn't have to ask him twice to join him on the blanket; Bray was down beside him immediately, hand slipping into Jack's. He arranged the other blanket to wrap over their legs and leaned against Jack with his own eyes on the speckled night sky.

"Hm..." In larger cities, stars were harder to come by; there was too much stray light around and some of the weaker points of light were lost. But out here, that wasn't an issue. Bray slid his arms around Jack and turned into him for a moment, smiling against his shoulder. "Maybe that's a good thing." Or it was a different change of scenery from a packed, noisy club. Out here it was just the two of them, alone together.

Some nights when Bray came up here alone, he would perch on top of a rock or a log and just let his thoughts run. It was unusually quiet up here and he found that if he sat still long enough, he would slip into a strange meditative state. Sometimes he fell asleep, too, and was visited by loved ones, which was always a pleasure, and those were his favorite nights, when he could come face-to-face with those he loved and lost. He didn't always remember the conversations, though; perhaps some things even his unconscious mind wanted to keep from him.

"Ah, look over there. Orion's belt." He lifted a hand to indicate the line of three stars that made up the constellation. Bray then paused, with a small smile. "Hey. I have an idea. Don't—don't freak out." His hand moved over the constellation again, but where his fingertips traced, a glowing white outline appeared, mapping out the stars. It was a small illusion, part of his ability to induce hallucinations—albeit not a very trippy one, simply outlining constellations in a star-strewn sky. Bray's fingertips kept drawing. "That's Orion. He's called the hunter because, see, it looks like he's holding a bow, doesn't it? Bet your belt's fancier than his, though," he added with a soft laugh, thinking back to row upon row of belts sitting back in Jack's apartment.

"It is."

He meant it as a good thing. Honestly, he was starting to get too old for that shit and he knew it. Was this an end of an era? It felt like it. But in the end, did he really need loud music, drink after drink, and the new flavor of the weekend if he had somebody steady at his side?

"Where?" Jack squinted at the night sky, trying to find the belt. Surely something called Orion's belt would be snazzy. If it were named for stars, it would have to have rhinestones. Ew. He made a slight face at his own imagined belt, before blinking to make sure his eyes saw what they saw. He blinked again--still there. Brayden was drawing in the sky!

"Well," he said, attempting to get over his breathless awe at the sudden magic in the air, "none of my belts will ever have rhinestones." And he remembered that he only thought it and that his words probably didn't mean the same thing they meant to Jack. He nuzzled Brayden, then peered with one eye at the drawn constellation. Still there.

"...it's real magic." Not an elaborate hoax. Anyway, Brayden wasn't like that.

Orion's belt was only three stars but imagination filled in the rest for Bray. Imagine having a belt made of stars! And each star was a burning sun of its own, with satellite planets circling it, drawn in inexplicably by its gravity—not unlike himself and Jack, he thought. Jack was that burning, bright star and Bray was nothing more than a humble, tiny planet pulled in by his majestic glow and his inescapable charisma.

Rhinestones, though, evoked mental images of old ladies for some reason. Maybe because his grandmother loved them and had them studded all over her old-fashioned handbags. She was... ah... blinged out, as the kids called it once. Bray kept that to himself, though—surely Jack didn't want to be associated mentally with an old lady clutching an oversized glittering bag.

"You can do it too." He nuzzled back as he reached down for Jack's hand and pulled it up to the sky. Their linked fingers traced another pattern, making the stars glow. "That one's mama bear. Ursa Major. And right nearby, see, little bear. Ursa Minor."

"You're sweet," Jack said, "but I know I'm not really doing anything."

Still, it was kinda fun to imagine that he was, that the finger tracing along the stars had magic in it. But he knew it was really Brayden. He wasn't a three year old with a video game controller, thinking he was playing when he wasn't. He'd seen that before. One of the neighbors had a lot of kids and the older ones would do that to the younger ones to avoid actually playing with them.

Not that this was anything like that.

"I bet those are your favorites," he said with a smile in his tone. Brayden's mom sounded like a proper mama bear. Not the scary go-after-you-until-you-die part but the sweet, instinctual part. Protective part without the scary. Jack wished he could have met her.

Bray laughed—magic by proxy. All right, it was mostly him, but it didn't hurt to share the magic for a moment with Jack. They could both pretend that Jack had that tingle in his fingertips that made stars shine. But really, Jack didn't need it; he was magic all in his own class. What else except magic could make someone feel like they were flying when both feet were planted on the ground? What other force could mend broken hearts and heal deep-seated pain? Magic wasn't all sparkling star pictures in the sky; sometimes it was less flashy, but no less miraculous.

The bears were his favorites, though, ever since his mother and father took him up here to see them. Bray was eight years old, and he had been looking forward to that night because there was supposed to be a meteor shower. He remembered sitting on a blanket just like this, between his parents, being shown the stars. His mother's gentle hand stroked his hair while his father's deep, soothing, calming voice told stories (factual stories, though) about each cluster of stars. Bray's father was studious, just like him—a bit of a geek, too. He passed along his love of reading, of astronomy, but also his own brand of gentleness and acceptance.

"They were my favorites," Bray corrected Jack as he turned to him, watching him illuminated by starlight. Yet, still, Jack shone the brightest to him. Bray leaned in to kiss him, just at the corner of his mouth. "You're my favorite now."

"How fortuitous," Jack said with a slight hum in the back of his throat as he kissed Bray back. Every bit as chase, sweet. A little game. Not everything had to be frantic fucking in the back of some seedy bar. "You're my favorite, too."

He didn't even care if it made sense in this context or not. Brayden was his star, then. And by default, his favorite. More than default, really. It was the first star he'd ever been able to catch, after all those years of being a young, dumb kid, thinking stars were magic entities that granted wishes. Brayden didn't know it, but he was doing just that. Wishes that Jack didn't even know he'd been harboring were coming true. For once in his entire life, he felt something inside of him truly growing, blossoming, becoming the man he was meant to be all along.

Jack shared another kiss with Brayden before falling back against the blanket set beneath them, resting a hand over his heart, where he could feel it beating, like any living, breathing person. His fingers curled round the fabric for a moment. Always crisp, clean, soft, expensive.

"I never had somebody like you to talk to. My friends were more or less like me... fronting for their vulnerabilities, afraid somebody might strike through their armor. Back then, armor wasn't like this. It was kids with foul mouths and a lot of blustering to look bigger and tougher than they were. I was the youngest. I wanted to be cool and tough like them, I didn't know they were fronting then. I just thought they all had it figured it out. They taught me to pick locks. We robbed people so we could keep up our drug habits." He fell silent. "I'm not proud of it. But you have to admit, at least it came in handy...?"

Bray didn't fall back but he did reach out to slide a hand over Jack's hand, over his heart. Gently he undid the fist that Jack had formed and smoothed out his fingers before lacing them together with his own. He kept his eyes on the stars; the glow had faded already, since they were merely trivial illusions not sustained by much magic. Nothing more than a little party trick to amuse the humans—the muggles—on any given occasion.

"Were those the only people you could find to be friends with?" Were those kinds of kids the only ones who would accept him, Bray wondered? He turned to look down at Jack with soft eyes. Back to his childhood again, and the little pieces of the picture that Jack was issuing to help him piece it all together. Jack was actively giving him this information, as though trying to bring him into his past life—and integrating him into his present life.

"I thought you were a burglar the first time you brought out your lockpicks," he said with a small laugh, recalling his fury at the time. Quiet fury, though—silent outrage. But no anger, surprisingly. Bray did get angry, he was human too, but with Jack there wasn't anything like that. Nothing negative. Hm (as Jack would say). Bray eased down to lay on his side facing Jack, propping his head up on one hand; the other still rested with Jack's on his chest.

"Why did you keep them? The lockpicks. If they're a part of a darker past, why didn't you throw them away?"

Jack, he was trying. He didn't know quite when the best time to share things was. It was true, though, what he told Margie, that he'd only given a fraction of his story. Everything was rooted in what he'd already shared--in the loveless mother and the abusive father. His family of origin, that he'd brought up to Brayden once before. They were the people who were supposed to raise him, to provide an example on how to live, what to become.

In a lot of ways, he ended up like them, especially his mother. For years, he didn't know what else to be. Was this not normal? For him to numb his great pain with the same vices as his mother? God, the fights they got into when he broke into her stash and stole her things. Her drugs, her alcohol, her money. For some years, the tender years when he ought to have been naive, innocent, and young... Jack was jaded, hateful, hard. He was unhappy, too. Utterly miserable but with no real path to follow than the one he knew.

Jack wanted desperately to share everything with Brayden. He wanted... proof, somehow, that no matter what horror story he told him, that Brayden would say what he said before. Remember. Remember that no matter what, they were here. Him and Margie.

"I thought so," he said softly. He didn't know if there were better people for him to befriend. A part of him felt protected by the older kids, the ones that knew how to navigate the slums of Boston better than he did. They knew where to go to get anything they wanted. They were shitty people, though. They were part of Jack's destruction, before he really knew better.

His thoughts went back to Brayden, when he said he would have liked for them to meet as kids. What would have changed? Jack thought he was much less... tolerant. He would have done anything for the older kids to like him, and that would have meant being a bully to sweet, shy Brayden.

"...worse than that," he said softly. So softly that it was barely audible, even in the quiet of the ridge. Jack was so much worse than a burglar. Jack stroked Brayden's hand on his chest with his thumb. "I kept the lock picks because I don't think they're inherently... dark. The skill's still useful." He half smiled as he looked at Brayden. "It helped you in a pinch, right?"

"Only if you remember them," Bray said quietly, smiling down at Jack. The lockpicks didn't come into play until the morning after, giving them only a few frantic hours to finish up all the paperwork before Bray had to run off, leaving Jack with a hurried peck and a Love you that mortified Bray in the car ride to college. But that was the precursor to all of this, he thought. Without that... there would be none of this.

Still, keeping things that reminded him of his childhood, it didn't seem healthy. Bray curled around him, cuddling up to him for warmth and comfort and just to be close to him. "What's worse than a burglar?" He did hear Jack's softly uttered words. He had been thinking about them as he made jokes about lock picks coming into play a day too late.

Bray's head came to rest lightly against Jack's. "Did you hurt people?" He asked because he couldn't think of anything worse than hurting people purposely. But in his mind it was things like maybe beating up other kids, or getting involved in gang wars. Kids off the streets did silly things like that. Formed gangs, played games of life and death in their childish belief that they were more grown up than they really were.

Gently he kissed the side of Jack's head. "It's okay." Bray kept his words to a bare whisper, like even the stars and trees and grass had ears. "You can tell me anything, remember?"

And who could argue with that? Jack let out a soft laugh; if he forgot about them, they were worthless, this was true. But! They were remembered in the nick of time and they were able to salvage the day--and all because of those lock picks. Jack couldn't fault the tools themselves for that.

His heart stopped, however, at Brayden's question. Natural as it was, after what Jack murmured to himself, he felt trapped. Brayden was asking him directly and Jack, who admitted to being a filthy liar, didn't want to have to lie to Brayden. Somehow, too, he thought Brayden would know. He would sense it, maybe, with his magic. Or just by virtue of getting to know Jack so well.

"Yes." He swallowed hard, then licked his suddenly dry lips. Part of him wished he'd brought cigarettes or alcohol but that was just his addiction talking. As they said about bad habits... Jack closed his eyes instead, letting the kiss against the side of his head sink in. The gentle tingle of warmth where his lips met his head gave him strength but it also ramped up the worry of really, actually pushing Brayden away--forever.

"I see."

Bray didn't follow that up with another question about who or how many times or why or how Jack hurt people. He didn't want to push any more than he already had, because he saw that... that look of fear on Jack's face. It was there but only briefly; blink and you'd miss it. Bray was afraid too, that if he pried too much before Jack was ready, that he would push Jack away. Push him back into the way he was, flirtatious and ostentatious, all armor and glitz and glitter.

"It's okay." He captured Jack's lips for a long, slow kiss. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me everything tonight." His fingers splayed against Jack's jaw as he turned his head fully, so that they could kiss again, longer this time, deeper, more intimately. Lovingly. It was fine not to know everything. He could be patient; his mother told him to wait for Jack to open up to him, not for him to push and push for answers.

Thank those lucky stars, Brayden didn't chase for answers. He left it out there, in the air between them. And then he swiftly swept them away with a kiss. A lover's kiss. A meaningful kiss, as if it said all the things Brayden wanted to say. Jack closed his eyes, to revel in the moment. To love in the moment. No other time mattered except right now. He told himself that all the time but right now, he felt protected by some magic bubble. He wouldn't lie to Brayden. But Brayden wouldn't push and that was something.

Jack rose up into the kiss, a hand on his chest, on his shoulder, around the back of his neck. Close was never close enough. There were times he just wanted to melt into somebody else, to combine their two essences, their existences, their souls, and their hearts. But never more than now. Brayden was something special. Beyond special. Everybody before him paled in comparison, disappearing...

As another kiss naturally ended, Jack's eyes slowly opened and he regarded Brayden with soft eyes and he smiled. He stroked his hair and his cheek, touched his lips with his fingertips. For once in his life, he wasn't just here to get laid. (Although that was always nice.) He savored the kisses and the closeness, the things he didn't ever have before with all those who came before.

Things were different this time. There was no... crazed need to protect that built into a sick crescendo of violence. It wasn't there, he realized in awe as his gaze remained on Brayden. It wasn't there at all--he didn't feel it. That oily, filthy darkness, that need to control the situation, to keep all things he thought he loved away from some perceived harm. He didn't understand it; why it wasn't there now. But he was relieved--so relieved he could have cried. A breakdown for a whole different reason.

"Why do I feel so different when I'm with you?"

Although he posed the question to Brayden, looking directly at him, into his warm brown eyes... He didn't expect Brayden to have an answer. How could he know? How could either of them know?

As tempting as it was to want to know everything about Jack, Bray knew that there was a time and a place for certain things. Some things Jack seemed overly eager to share with him, like those episodes about his past or more recent anecdotes where he—naturally—came out smelling of roses and on top. Some things he let slip almost reluctantly, fearfully, inspiring a need in Bray to protect him. To reassure him. Whatever those dark, deep secrets were that he kept close to his heart, Bray knew that in time they would be revealed.

How did he know?

Because—look at the way Jack touched him. Kissed him. Felt him, drew him close and kept him close. Jack needed him, that was never more apparent than in that very moment, after the kisses broke and Jack still held on to him. Look at the way Jack gazed up at him, as though only seeing Bray for the first time. He was discovering something new in Bray but also in himself, wasn't he? Bray could only smile, feeling the emotion rising up to form a knot in his throat. He swallowed hard.

"Maybe because you've changed. You're different now."

"Not the man you fell in crazy love with?" he teased, although that was kind of a genuine concern. How much had he changed? If Brayden noticed it? Jack knew he was different than when he'd lived in Ohio--his last residence. And he most definitely was different from the place before that and beyond. Something within him had fundamentally changed and he couldn't help thinking it was because of Brayden.

Was it... magic?

Or something else? Jack remembered when he was with some guy that was really into the idea of alternative medicine and meditating. Shit like that. He said that love was a form of medicine. "You know how they say laughter is the best medicine? While that's almost true, it's really love. Love can cure anything." Jack had scoffed at that thought. Love? Love as a cure for what ails you? Maybe he was magic. Maybe love was a kind of mundane magic.

"I... hurt people I cared about," he said after a long silence. He couldn't look at Brayden when he said it, so he looked away, over the ridge and then up... up at the sky and all those pretty, twinkling balls of gas up there. Stars. Magic stars. He slowly raised Brayden's hand to his lips to kiss it. "But I can't imagine... I don't feel like... I can't see hurting you. It's like... the minute we locked eyes, you banished it... this... feeling that's been with me for so long."

"Hey, that's not what I meant!" Then, as he realized belatedly that Jack was teasing him, 'Oh-oh you..." He knew what Bray meant! Being together had changed them both much for the better, he was sure. The Jack of a few months ago wasn't the same one that laid with him here, now, speaking softly about his troubled past instead of loudly laughing and telling amusing stories that strengthened the image of a big-city slicker with a Havard degree. Jack made it seem as though he breezed through university, as if he didn't have to struggle to get in, to stay in.

And was it only a few months ago that they were silently nodding to each other as they passed in the hallways and making desultory smalltalk in passing through the courtyard? Was it only a few months ago that they would sneak glimpses of one another, and when Bray would look over his shoulder as he passed and then furtively turn away, worried about being too obvious?

See, they had changed. Bray had changed, too. He kissed Jack in the middle of a cafe, right out there in public. They held hands through a park, strolling along like lovers would. He no longer thought as long or as hard about everything; sometimes he just said what was on his mind and didn't worry about how it would come across. They were here now, laying together, communicating and sharing intimate details about their lives.

"I'm glad you feel that way," he said softly, kissing the lips that had kissed his hand so tenderly. "That you don't want to hurt me. But that was never... never something I questioned. I never saw it in you." Jack had hurt others perhaps, but he never touched a hair of Bray's head. There was never any indication of a violent nature, of harmful tendencies. If anything Jack hurt himself more than he hurt Bray, with his vices, with the drinking and the random people he brought home to warm his bed—but not his heart.

"Is that why you have nightmares, Jack? Because you—you hurt people in the past?" Bray couldn't breathe—he was so tense, so anxious. He wanted to know so that he could help, so that he could make sure that... that feeling Jack spoke of never came back.

He wondered, when Brayden said that--that he was glad Jack didn't want to hurt him--if he was half afraid that Jack could have felt that way. That there had been a possibility that he could have run into a Jack that could react violently towards him. Did it scare him, to know Jack hurt people? Wouldn't it scare him far more to know how much worse it was?

Jack could feel it again. The emotions coming from Brayden. Palpable. Like he could touch them, they were so strong. The anxiety. The tension in the air between them. The way Brayden hesitated when he used the term hurt made Jack aware. That perhaps Brayden knew more than he let on. Swallowing hard, Jack sat up, drawing a knee up to his chest but he turned to look at Brayden.

"Have you seen them?" he asked softly. "My nightmares?"

His gaze was searching. Not angry, not betrayed. Perhaps afraid, though. Of what might have translated over to Brayden. What might have been revealed unwittingly. They slept together enough times, enough times for Jack to have nightmares in his presence. And they were almost a nightly occurrence, especially after meeting Brayden. The truth wanted so badly to reveal itself, to show itself to somebody that could still love him. But Jack knew better. Nobody could love anybody that did those things to somebody. That was why Jack couldn't love himself. Why he hated himself. Not even the person himself could love him for that.

"You've seen them, haven't you?" His searching gaze tore away from Brayden, not waiting for a response. "I had to protect them. And I didn't see any other way. It was... the only way."

"Yes." Bray couldn't lie—he did see Jack's nightmares. He walked through one in full and others, maybe there were snippets. Unsettling things that he either half-forgot when he woke up or that he pushed away because he didn't know what to make of them, didn't know where the dots connected back to. Back to Jack's past, he realized now. Back to neglect and hurt and being unloved, not knowing how to treat others because he had never been treated right by others. There was his home ec teacher, yes, but she wasn't his mother. Having a mother who formed such a large part of who he was in the present day, Bray knew that Jack couldn't have found a substitute for his own mother. He wouldn't have known how to begin searching for a surrogate at that age.

Again, there was a kind of fear in Jack's eyes. He rolled up into a smaller version of himself, curled up, a leg drawn as if to make a smaller target of himself. Or maybe to protect himself as he looked away and spoke of protecting them. More than one person that he hurt? That he... hurt badly? Bray couldn't think the word—killed. It hurt too much to think that Jack could have done... that.

"I—yes. I saw them. There was... there was blood. A body. Eyes staring at-at me. You." Slowly he reached for Jack and slipped both arms around his shoulders. Bray pulled him close but felt as if somehow Jack was slipping away a little in the moment. Or maybe it was him; maybe he was the one who... who died inside, just a little.

"I love you, Jack." His voice was the barest, smallest whisper. "Tell me how I can help you stop the nightmares."

There it was. The other shoe.... dropping. Jack was withdrawing because instinctively, he felt like the same would happen with Brayden. Not that he'd be hurt by Jack... that fear was long gone now. He'd tried, in his fear, to warn Brayden away. Several times. But Brayden was insistent. But now that he knew. He knew. Before, with those nightmares, whenever he saw them, there must have been suspicions. But suspicions and confirmation were two different things.

Jack realized that his hands were shaking. Holding in emotions had become old hat for him but with the cracks in his armor chipped away, it was becoming harder and harder to hold onto them. He was so... afraid of losing the only good thing he ever had. But he realized, too, that he had always known this was how it was going to end for them. It was better to end like this than the alternative. Brayden somehow fixed the most broken part of him... but that didn't mean he was going to stick around to find out where he went next.

The heat was back there, behind his eyes, threatening to spill out and he fiercely blinked them away. Because he had no right. He had no right to hang onto something so beautiful. To somebody so beautiful; he knew that from the start. He tried, though. He tried to protect Brayden and then he tried to protect himself.

Even though he could feel Brayden's arms around him, somehow, it only made him feel so much worse. What Brayden was describing wasn't just a nightmare. It was a memory. A sickening memory. I love you, Jack was too much for him. His shoulders shook uncontrollably and the ugly, terrible sound of a sob escaped without his permission. He didn't want to be seen like this. Somehow, it was so much worse than the cafe.

"You can't. You shouldn't. The nightmares are my punishment. My guilt. My regret." He raised his hands to his head, grasping at his hair with shaking hands. He'd never done this in front of Brayden. A breakdown. He could feel it coming. The kind that he usually quelled by chain smoking, by drinking. And back when he was a drug addict, by snorting, shooting up, whatever he could to make it go away faster.

"God, Brayden, they were people. With families that loved them." He couldn't stop it now. No matter how hard he blinked, his sorrow spilled over and he slid his hands over his face. "I thought... I really thought they were too good for this world. Somebody had to save their smiles and their soft hearts. This ugly world... they never knew anything about it. And I loved them for it. But they were going to get hurt. One day, somebody was going to take their smiles away and stab them in their soft hearts. I really thought I was sparing them, Brayden but I was just the monster I wanted to save them from."

He could never look Brayden in the face again.

"......believe me when I say.... I wanted to keep you safe. But you wouldn't stay away." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, "I would do anything to save you, Brayden. But I would never do that to you... I never..."

Bray didn't say much; he didn't have much to say. He started thinking again because that was what he did best, as he struggled to cope with Jack's admissions. He... didn't know what to make of it all. It was too sudden. Their night started off so beautiful and it... It wasn't ugly but it was messy. Everything was messed up and switched around. Loving words turned into stark admissions. The stars that shone so brightly dimmed as a wet salty heat built up behind his own eyes, the more Jack talked.

Jack was hysterical, almost, as he kept talking, kept trying to explain himself. Innocent ones he tried to protect. People he wished could stay sweet and pure forever. It didn't make sense to Bray but it must have to Jack. In that moment, in those relationships, it made sense to him to—hurt them. To hurt them in order to keep them save from harm. It was a paradox, it was nonsense.

He didn't stop holding on to Jack even while Jack grasped at his own hair, as tears fell and as the torment of his actions came back in full force. Bray could see the contrition there, the regret and the pain. That was the pain he saw early on in Jack, which he couldn't understand. That was the source of the nightmares and Bray... he couldn't... fix it. Now that he knew, he couldn't fix it because there was no way for Bray to offer absolution to Jack. It wasn't his place to forgive Jack so that he could ease his conscience, either—the people who could were... no longer here.

"I couldn't stay away," he finally said at last, responding to the only thing he could respond to. "I was already in love with you." His lips pressed feather-light against Jack's temple, feeling him shaking, feeling his emotions like a tidal wave, dragging him under. "I still... love you." He couldn't stop himself from loving Jack any more than he could stop the stars from shining down on them. Bray lowered his head and let his own tears fall too, taking in a ragged breath. "I still love you, Jack."

Once upon a time, it all made perfect sense to him. Jack could see it as clear as day at the moment in time. When he knew. He felt the urge deep inside, a dark, ugly oily sort of feeling that gripped him, the more he spent with these beautiful, loving, happy people. While they were getting closer to Jack, Jack was getting more and more afraid. For them. Everywhere he looked, danger lurked. Voices that whispered in the back of his mind, that told him that he had to do something.

They were interposed with Jack as a child. The moment his innocence was lost. When his own father wrapped his hands around his throat and told him his mother was right, that they should have just aborted him, what a miserable waste of space he was. He could only cause trouble. He was nothing but a pain in the ass to everybody around him. Go fucking walk in traffic you little shit. Before then, Jack had an impression that his dad, at least, loved him, even if he showed it in a mean way.

It wasn't long after that he left. And his mother blamed Jack for it. How was she going to live now? She had no job, no money. Fuck you Jack! Get the fuck out of my way! Stop crying, you don't even know what pain is, do you? You've never felt real pain in your entire life. Cruel laughter. Jack didn't cry much after that. He learned how to bottle it up deep inside. Any time he felt like he might, he just held it in. Held it in deep. So deep that he couldn't touch it.

But it found its way out. It had to. Things like that didn't just disappear. They had to go somewhere.

He didn't... understand. He couldn't wrap his head around the way there were still warm arms embracing him or a gentle kiss to his temple. He didn't understand how there could be such a loving, soft voice speaking to him, without even a hint of disgust or even fear. He didn't understand it. Yet Jack still couldn't bring himself to look at him, because he was sure he would see it. Fear. Disgust. Apologies. I'm sorry, I thought I could do this. But I can't. He had been waiting for those words from the moment Brayden admitted his feelings for him.

Jack just wanted to be happy, like everybody else. But deep down, he knew... he didn't deserve it. And he punished himself over and over again for it. His subconscious did it for him, too, when he dared to forget to. He couldn't get rid of it, the burden, the weight, the disgust and self-hatred.

"Why?" His voice shook and he wished he hadn't spoken at all but it had to free itself. Why? Why did he still love him? "Why? Why?"

"Because I do."

No one could explain love. Love was. Period. Love was, it existed not to be explained but to be felt, to be experienced, to be given and received and shared between two hearts, equally cracked. Bray shook his head. He didn't know why. Why? Why? Why did he love someone who hurt? Someone who hurt him in that moment because his pain was palpable and overwhelming? Why didn't he stumble away and run off back to the safety of his boring life and his apartment with all of those worn and old things that he couldn't bear to throw away?

How could he throw Jack away?

Bray hadn't even thrown out the chipped cup his mother gave him when he was 12. How could he throw away a person if he couldn't even get rid of a goddamn cup?

"I don't know. I don't know Jack. I just do." His tears fell with his shaking words, with the tightening of his arms around Jack, so tight that it had to hurt both of them. And an ugly-sounding sob escaped him too, right from the depths of his broken heart because he knew that this star he had chosen was his destiny, and he was helpless in the face of his own fate. He couldn't escape the orbit of a star--nor that of a black hole. The two were one and the same-a dark star. His dark star, his black star.

"I love you. I love you. I love you Jack." He kept saying it and he kept crying because it was... so painful. The love he had for Jack was so painful and so sharp that it scared him. It scared him to tears.

Why?

How? How could the answer be so simple? Because. Because he did. But love wasn't a panacea. It couldn't cure everything. It couldn't erase the horrors of the past. It couldn't even fix the things Jack so desperately wanted to fix about himself. But somehow, it fixed something. He didn't even know how to describe that part to Brayden. How important he'd become. How somehow, he'd actually changed something, healed something, fixed some part of his darkness without even knowing it was there.

Because truly, it was no longer there. The desire to save beloved, lovely, beautiful people. He knew... it didn't save. It just made things worse. For everybody. For their families, for the people who really loved them, for him, for every future relationship Jack forged with his sins caving him in. It fixed absolutely nothing for anybody.

And his pain had become Brayden's. Brayden was in so much pain over him. Jack never heard him cry like that, never heard him sound like that. He hated it. He hated making Brayden cry. He hated making him shake like he shook. He hated bringing him down into the darkness with him, when he should have been the light. Jack turned toward him for the first time since his awful admission. Fear had never been so strong in him as it was in that moment.

"Please... please..." Jack pleaded, his hands going to Brayden's face, to the tears that stained his cheeks. Pressing his forehead to Brayden's as his chest ached and exploded and burned and tore apart. "Please don't cry, Brayden. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this. I tried... I want so much more for you... believe me, you don't deserve any of this."

Brayden would never, ever hurt anybody. He would never. And now he was dragged into his darkness. It wasn't fair. It had never been fair to Brayden. He should have broken his heart before this, before he got so involved with him.

Love had never hurt like this before, not for Bray who had grown accustomed only to the sweetness and the tenderness of a mother's love, the true love of a close childhood friend, that pure love for others simmering away in his heart. Even when those people didn't reciprocate, and even when it hurt him so, so badly, it never felt like this before. It never felt like he was being torn apart at the seams.

And so he learned the other side of love, that dark, dark torturous side that drove people to do truly horrible things--in the name of love.

The light had to create darkness, though. Without darkness there was no light. Being exposed only to the light, it was easy to believe only that love was good and kind and healing. He thought he knew what it was to love, but it wasn't so. Bray only knew what it felt like to be loved. He didn't know... what it felt like to love someone to the degree that he loved Jack.

He couldn't fathom the depths of that pain, the despair, of having truly given everything he had to his love.

That was why he cried. He cried for his lost innocence, for Jack's lost innocence, for the fact that they could never, ever go back. Jack tried to warn him. He said it himself, he tried to warn Bray that there was no way to go back.

"We can never go back. You understand that... right?"

And he nodded, in his naivete, he said yes, he understood. He didn't want to ever go back to that loneliness and that isolation. He needed Jack to be in his life because even then, it was already too late to say no. Bray's heart was already his by then and everything that happened afterwards... He didn't regret. Even in this, there was no regret. He didn't wish he could go back and say no--no, he didn't want to be with Jack any longer. The thought never even occurred to him. Not now, not ever.

"No Jack, no," he sobbed, gulped, gasped like a dying man. "No no I--I..." Bray clung to him. He buried his face into the crook of Jack's neck and he held him tighter than he had ever held anyone or anything before. "I love you. I want to be with you." No going back now. No bridge behind him, no path. He--they--could only keep marching forward because the future couldn't be as dark as this moment.

"I need to be with you. And-and you need to be with m-me."

The bandaid had been ripped. And Jack wished he could say it was a relief. It wasn't. Everything hurt so much. Every part of him, from the inside out. His soul felt like a physical thing and it hurt. All of it hurt. For Brayden and for himself. What if he just told him from the beginning, before they got so tangled up in one another? Before they fell in love? But... he'd told himself this before and he had to tell himself again that there was no way to go back. There was no way to never come to Hazleton, there was no way to fix all the things he'd inadvertently broken upon coming here.

And yet... he still felt like he should. It was self flagellation at its finest; Jack could never forgive himself. In his wake, were literal bodies. Left behind, snuffed out. And he was the reason they didn't exist anymore. He was the reason they were only epitaphs now. It was unbearable to know that.

He wanted to talk about it. He wanted to tell Brayden. The first time was an accident. And it broke him. It really broke him. For days, he said nothing. He didn't know what to do. So he buried him and he let his family keep looking for him and he quietly moved away and he thought that was the last of it, that it would never, ever happen again. And then he was in a new relationship. A few years down the line. He thought he was in love. He did love him. But in love... it turned out, was something else.

He wanted... to share these people with Brayden. So they might live again. They would never be truly here. On this plane of existence. They died, they were gone, on to the next life, maybe, gone to another place. If heaven was real, they were there. If the dead became stars, they were up there, right now, looking down at them. (Fuck, he didn't like that one right now--it was downright creepy.)

But he wasn't ready. Jack wasn't ready. Brayden sure as hell wasn't ready. It was a bombshell. Even if Brayden had an inkling from his nightmares. God. He must have felt the horror, then. Walking through his nightmares as him. He must have seen it all. And maybe that was why. Why he... understood. Why he... could forgive. Jack didn't deserve it but it was there. It was staring him in the face without admonishment or hate, without fear without horror without condemnation. Jack didn't understand. But he held him anyway. He held him as Brayden buried his wet face in the crook of his neck. And Brayden held him, too. So tight. So tight that it hurt. So tight that there was no way not to feel it in him, every beat of his heart, every shake of his sobs, every drop of love. For him.

Jack held tight, too. He squeezed his eyes shut so hard that it hurt, too. Like everything else. His face felt raw. His lungs, his nose. And he realized there was no armor left at all. There were no walls. This was it. This was Jack as naked as a newborn. Raw. Every. Ugly. Nasty. Flaw.

I just want to die.

I want to die.

I deserve to die.

He lowered his head, eyes still closed tight, tight, tight. Against every demon, every bad thought, every echoing voice.

Everything.

Went dark.

"Dude... Just take it," Keith said, holding out his palm. "It'll calm you down."

Jack stared at him with complete mistrust in his gaze. His left eye was so swollen he could barely even see out of it. His hoodie was over his head, shoulders hunched like he wanted to make himself smaller. A dark curl of hair hung in his good eye but he didn't bother shaking it away.

The pair stood beneath the bleachers at their high school. Rain drops hit the metal like hard, wet slaps. Jack flinched whenever a spare drop passed through and touched him.

"Just fucking take it." Keith reached over and grabbed Jack's chin, forcing his mouth open and shoving the pill in. Automatically, he swallowed it. There was a slightly bitter aftertaste. He stepped away from Keith, wiping his mouth.

"What was that?"

"I told you, Ripper. It'll calm you down."

He woke up in the dark. Soaked. Lying on his side in a puddle. Squinting, blinking back the rain in his eyes. Jack sat up. His hoodie hung half off his shoulder and he pulled it up, useless as it was. He had no idea where the fuck he was but he felt like he'd been hit by a train. Dragging himself to his feet, he realized he was out back behind the liquor store, a few blocks from home. His vision blurred and he staggered a step forward before smacking his shoulder and side against the chainlink fence nearby. He grasped on to stay on his feet, but his legs felt weak.

And then he saw him. The boy. With the tousled sandy hair. A vision of him smiling at him in the hallway. Jack winking, and the boy gave him a shy little wave.

"A-Andy?" Jack let go of the fence, slid to his knees.

They met up at lunch. Jack took his hand. Smiled as they disappeared into the empty science lab. Jack knew which classes were empty for lunch, which ones were safe to hang out in during certain periods. They kissed. Andy was shy--at first. But he was a quick study. He had a crooked little smile but the purest eyes Jack had ever seen. A stormy greyish blue. They lit up when he smiled.

Now they were dim. Staring back at him, lifeless. Jack wrapped his arms around himself before bending forward and throwing up.

"What the hell did you do, Ripper?" Keith's voice said from behind him. Jack turned wildly around to see him walking forward, scuffed sneakers splashing carelessly in the rain.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't do this. I don't even know how I got here. Or what time it is. What's happening? Keith, what the fuck is--"

"You killed him, you sick fuck."

The words were damning knives into his skull. He shook his head as he turned away from the body. And Keith just nodded.

"I watched you do it." Keith finally came to a stop in front of Jack. "I saw. Every. Single. Moment. Jack."

With a sharp gasp, Jack opened his eyes. Breathing heavily, eyes wild, his head shot up. He was still in a tight embrace. His heart beat rapidly, his head wanted to explode. He pushed back, hands grasping onto shoulders.

"Brayden?"

Brayden. He was still there, holding onto him. His heart still kept racing, the fear still clinging to him. The cobwebs of his past. Jack caressed his face, hardly believing it to be true. Real. He was there. Very real. Very human. Or very fairy. Whatever, it didn't matter. He was here. Jack rested his forehead against Brayden's. "I love you. I love you so much." He kissed him. Closed his eyes. Breathed him in. He felt like he could hardly breathe. Only shallow breaths, like he couldn't catch his breath.

This couldn't be the end.

It couldn't be the end of their story, terminating abruptly even before it truly began. Wasn't it only this morning that he was on his knees, watching Jack walk away? Wasn't it earlier that morning that they walked out of his apartment hand-in-hand, to that cute little cafe for brunch, and then out to the park? There he thought he had learned more about Jack but that was a fraction of what still laid buried underneath.

Secrets.

So many secrets left to uncover.

Bray shook against Jack as the emotions started to drain away and as the sobs slowed and then quieted. Jack was quiet too, oddly still. Bray didn't dare lift his head for a long, long while. Hours maybe. Or mere minutes. Time had no meaning and no relevance in that painful moment when all they could do was grasp on to each other. The horror had yet to dawn on Bray yet—not fully. This too was the tip of the iceberg. This was the beginning of the realization that the man he loved was... was a...

A murderer.

And every particle of Bray that was good and kind and taught only to share love was horrified.

"J-Jack?" All of a sudden Jack pushed him back, grappled with him as though he couldn't believe Bray was here. And Bray stared at him with wide, surprised eyes—jolted out of his sadness for a moment. A chorus of I love yous fell from Jack's lips and his heart lurched sickeningly in his chest. It responded just as strongly as it did earlier that day to the words, to the sincerity and the desperation behind them.

"I... I love you too," he breathed, breathing Jack in too. Bray kissed him again, again, again. His hands pulled at Jack, pulled him close, kept him close. "We-we'll find a way past this Jack," Bray whispered in desperation, grasping at straws. "Jack... Jack..."

It

it


it just didn't make sense.

Jack's mind was racing. He didn't understand it. There used to be

there was this image in his mind.

There used to be this image in his mind.

With Andy.

They kissed. Andy fought with him. He killed him. It was an accident.
It was an accident.

But it wasn't.

Because it didn't happen the way it was in his head.

How did he know this? Where was it coming from? Jack's mind kept racing. His heart kept racing. It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. What was happening to him?

Jack tried to catch his bearings. He touched Brayden's face again. Real. Real as anybody else was. Real and beautiful. And just... he was so... Jack's fingertips traced the tears he'd put on his face. The pain inside was also real and so deep it felt like he'd never be able to feel anything else again. Jack kissed him again. His fingertips roved over those lips afterward. And his own lips quivered slightly, his eyes were bright. But he smiled even though there were tears threatening to spill over again and again and again.

"...B... Brayden... I just saw something. I think it's you. You're doing something to me and it's opening my eyes." He bit his own lip and pulled away from Brayden, sitting back with the dawning realization that all those racing thoughts were unraveling because something else inside had unraveled, too. He stared into the distance as he thought it over, tried to make sense of it all.

For so long, he had lived with this horror and this guilt. But if he was truly capable of those things... how could he keep doing them? It... It just didn't make sense. It didn't make

sense.

so what

did it

mean

what did it mean what did it mean what did it mean

Paranoia crept over him now. It was crawling up his spine and then down his back. He looked around them. At the beautiful scenery, at how... alone they were. Jack suddenly got to his feet, then shook his hand towards Brayden a couple of times, urging him to take his hand.

"Let's get out of here. Now. We can't be here."

"Jack?" Why was he smiling? Why was there that strange light of realization and hope in his eyes? Bray didn't understand. He... he didn't understand at all. What was there to smile about? To be happy about? Bray felt as if he could never be happy again. The weight of Jack's confession was so heavy over his shoulders, over his heart.

"What?" Jack was not making sense. Bray tried to wrap his head around what he was saying—something about Bray doing things to him—as Jack suddenly grew alarmed and sprang to his feet. Bray stood too, mystified. Baffled. He was truly baffled by Jack's erratic behavior and maybe... maybe the strain of his admissions had gotten to him.

He nodded and began to gather their things to pack away. "O-okay Jack. We should probably head back..." There was a rustling in the bushes nearby. A small animal? Bray peered hard into the darkness but he couldn't make out much. The fine hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as he remembered that wolves patrolled the area and very quickly he shoved the blankets away and grabbed onto Jack's hand.

"Let's go home Jack." Bray started off down the path, glad that it was only a short walk back to civilization. "I'll call an uber."

"Yeah," he said, still looking around, not liking that they were out here... all alone... all... alone... He grasped Brayden's hand tighter, stopped. Drew him closer. There was a sound. Like... the scrape of a boot against small, loose stones.

"...Ripper... there you are..."

A cold, smooth voice. Cold, steel eyes. He was standing there. On the trail back down, he stood there as cool and calm as a snake, waiting to strike. The last time Jack ever saw him--that he remembered--Keith was back in Boston. In high school. But they said he died. Shot in some gang related violence that took another young life. Jack never saw him again. Again... not that he remembered.

Now he stood here, an adult. All grown up. But the eyes were the same. The tone of his voice was the same. That ugly smirk was the same. But he'd put on some bulk, some muscle. He was tall. For a little while in junior high, Jack was taller--he had a growth spurt. But as they grew older, in high school, Keith started to get taller, to fill out.

"And who's this...?" Keith asked as he made a step toward Brayden. Jack immediately put himself between the two.

"Back off."

"Brayden Smith," Keith said. "We've met." He smiled and he almost looked friendly. "Philip McKellan. Remember me? I work with the superintendent. I asked you to dinner and you turned me down." His gaze flicked over Jack, from head to toe and back. "Said you had... other plans."

"What?" Bray turned toward the voice that came out of absolutely nowhere, startled. He stared at the man who walked out of the shadows, unable to make out his features at first. That oily, smooth voice... It sent a shiver down Bray's spine. He felt magic, too, in the air and he instinctively edged closer to Jack. But Jack was placing himself in front, as Bray reached out to hold a fistful of his coat, unsure as to what... this was all about.

"Ph-Phil? Of course. I-I remember you..."

There had been a smiling, friendly, warm man who arrived with the superintendent and who returned after that initial visit. Bray and he looked over the paperwork quite carefully to make sure everything matched up, and over the course of a few hours he became quite comfortable in his presence. He remembered smiling dark eyes and—magic. The same magic that he felt now, only not as strong as back then in his office.

Philip did ask him out to dinner but Bray politely declined. He did have other plans that night. He... it was game night. The card game he convinced Jack to play with him sat in his bag hanging behind the door of his office. Bray remembered glancing towards it and thinking of Jack, of a quiet evening in with some popcorn and lemon water.

So he said no—that he was sorry, but he was busy. He didn't offer to go to dinner with Philip another time because his heart already yearned for another man and he couldn't, wouldn't, compromise on his feelings. Bray didn't want anyone other than Jack and it was as simple as that.

"Do you know each other?" He asked tentatively as he felt the magic surge. Angry magic. Bray's breath came in sharply as his free hand curled into a fist. Magic—he had it too. Illusory magic, dream magic and sleep magic. There was a surprised look on Philip's face for a moment before he smirked again.

"A fairy, Ripper? Still looking for that fairy tale ending, hm?" He appeared amused by his own pun.

"His name's not Phil," Jack said, his voice tight. "It's Keith Hargrove."

And he was... angry. So angry. Always angry. He couldn't stand that Jack was a flirt. There had always been this air of possession about him, from the moment they met, all the way back in junior high school. Keith was his first boyfriend. The first person he called boyfriend. The first to call Jack boyfriend.

But he had a nasty temper and he'd grown up in the same sort of life that Jack did. Poor. A mother that was hardly home because she was a single parent and always working. Always scrapping, down for a fight, it made him feel good, he said. To get his feelings out. Jack said it reminded him of his father. And Keith told him all guys like you have daddy issues... and as he pulled his hair, he whispered, but that's okay, you can call me daddy.

Jack felt sick all over just looking at him again. He was... supposed to be dead. Back in high school. Gang violence. That wasn't... real? Was anything Jack knew real?

"Why does it even matter to you? We haven't dated since we were sixteen."

"Oh, it matters. It's always mattered...." He practically purred. Something was off. Jack couldn't tell what it was. Just that... something didn't feel right.

"What are you? Some kind of warlock?"

Okay, so Jack didn't know much about magic. He was just learning about this whole new world. Hell, just on the way up this ridge, he was getting a little lesson in it from Brayden himself. There were werewolves. Was he one of those? Jack looked at him, not even conscious of the fact that it was the same mistrusting look he'd given on the day he'd supposedly murdered Andy Davis.

"No, actually. I'm," said Keith with a terrible smirk and a tilt of the head, "a fairy, too."

(Omfg showdown between the MFing fairies. Step aside Jack, it's man mode time for Bee!)

"F-fae," Bray whispered at the same time that Phil—Keith spoke. Another fae. A powerful one at that, with a strong glamor. Bray could barely see through it, and he was strong too. Being gifted in illusions meant that he had the power of Sight, the ability to see beyond most glamors. His own, too, was extremely strong and not many saw through it. He barely struggled to maintain it; it kept itself up, drawing from the strength of his innate abilities.

Bray's mother, she was a powerful being. His father too—they came from a pureblood family. Fae lived together apart from humans; yet his parents left and they brought him here to Hazleton to live with humans. Why? His mother used to only smile at him and say that they wanted him to experience a full, complete world. They said that his heart could not learn to love if he only existed alongside his own kind, and by all accounts, the fae were extremely wary of and prejudiced towards other species of supernaturals.

They wanted him to love everyone, beings of all walks of life.

But in this man Keith, Bray saw nothing. No love. Only... anger and hatred, thinly veiled behind his sneering demeanor. He swallowed hard as he stepped out a little more from behind Jack. "Please... leave us alone," he pleaded with the strange man, with his strange, savage smile and strange, hard eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't do that... Bee." The use of his pet name made a cold shudder run down Bray's spine. "You see, you... Oh you're so sweet, aren't you? So innocent. So... lovely. So, so lovely. Too lovely for this world... isn't that right, Ripper?" His tone was so smug that it made Bray feel physically ill.

(AHHHHHHHH)

No. No. Why was Brayden trying to step out? Away? Jack did his best to try and shield him, to keep him out of that bastard's line of sight. But all of his hatred and all of his anger were directed at him. And the way he spoke to him... He just couldn't stand it. That Jack was drawn to something that wasn't so dark and ugly. That he saw a smile and he smiled back. Jack was not all brooding and tortured; there was an innate lightness in him that Brayden somehow... had always seen.

And it attracted people. People that weren't... him. Keith. Phil. Whatever his real name was. He had always been like this. Possessive and prone to jealousy. Even before they said they were official, Keith used to sneer at the guys that Jack showed interest in. He dragged him into situations that threw them both into hot water. They would laugh about it later, what a close call, did you see his face?

Jack stared at Keith. The words that he used. Were a slap in his face. A punch to the gut. And oh, Keith knew. He knew how it hurt him and he knew why.

"...stop..."

"You just wanted to save them," Keith said, still oily smooth. "You begged for their lives. You begged on your knees and it. Was. Delicious. Every demand I made, you would do it for them. Not... that you had much... choice."

At the word choice, Jack was shoved down by an invisible force to one knee, as if bowing to a king. Then the other knee was shoved down.

"And there he is. My. Sullied. Pet."

Jack tried to pry himself up but he was well and stuck in place, as if vice grips bound his legs. Fear welled up in him. He hadn't seen the rest. He didn't know what he did, what trick he used, how he put it all on Jack. How he killed them. They were always just... dead. Like he'd blacked out. He thought he was crazy. I just wanted to save them. It took on such a different meaning now.

With a flick of his wrist, Keith struck Brayden with something. Some type of magic. Jack twisted, trying to see what was happening, trying to leap up, trying to do something--anything--other than bow there like a useless puppet. Then Keith was there, right in front of him, his hand viciously grasping onto his hair and forcing him to look up at him.

"Now what will you do for this one, I wonder?"

(IT'S BEE MODE TIME)

This man. He was insane.

Bray had never seen such a madness before in one person. Whatever grudge he held against Jack, whatever he was here to do, it was... it was evil. Pure evil intent shone out of him, a light that was disgusting and vile and inhuman. Something in him was so twisted as to make even his aura black. Fae were creatures of light but this one, he had fallen. He had fallen so far.

And his magic, it was black too, just like his intentions. Bray let out a soft cry as it lashed out at both of them, forcing Jack to his knees and temporarily freezing him in place. He struggled to free himself but was hampered by his glamor. It was like a wrapping, a coating all around him to contain his magical form. And it concealed his wings, too, which were the source of his magic; when they were hidden, Bray was limited in what he could do.

But Keith's wings were... they... weren't there. His glamor fell to allow him to use magic but he had no wings...? How? Bray stared at him aghast. No. It wasn't possible. To sacrifice his wings to... to become... something else. His heart jolted nastily right up into his throat. A fairy without wings, wielding black magic...

"Leave him alone!" His voice was shrill; he was frightened and unable to control his own voice. Bray struggled again, this time to let the glamor fall. It was so strong, which normally was good but in an emergency situation... not so much. Keith looked up at him with a vicious grin and Bray saw him tugging even harder on Jack's hair to force his head to turn towards Bray.

"Oh, look. Little... Tinkerbell over here thinks he can save you, Ripper. Isn't that just adorable." His hand flashed out again, fingers like claws; something red slashed into Bray's thigh like a whip, and a spray of blood landed on the path before them.

Bray let out a choked cry of pain but—but the glamor fell. His wings unfurled, bright and shining, enveloping him like a shield against the next slash of magic. Bray held out a hand and painted sigils in the air. Sleep. Sleep, he willed Keith as his leg throbbed mercilessly and as blood coated his pant leg. Sleep.

Keith backed away a pace, struck by an invisible force. His sneer turned ugly as he slashed again with a sigil of his own, fighting against Bray's attack. "Hah...ha... oh he's... not bad, Ripper. I'm going to have fun with him. And you're going to watch... every... thing..."

No matter how hard he struggled, Jack could not get himself back up on his feet. He felt like even his shoulders were being pushed downward, as if gravity was trying to push every part of him into the earth. His head was turned with a nasty tug and Jack was helpless as Brayden was attacked by some kind of whiplike form.

"No!" He tried again to get up but the hand in his hair twisted and yanked his head so far back that he couldn't see Brayden again. But something happened. Something pushed at Keith and he moved back a pace, still holding hard onto Jack's hair like a leash. Forcing him to look.

He saw light. Bright, pretty light. Ethereal light. If he didn't know Brayden was a fairy, he might have thought he was an angel just now. Fuck. Fuck. Keith spoke so arrogantly; he wasn't even a little afraid. And Brayden... beautiful, warm, loving Brayden...

"Brayden! Run! Run! Get of here! He's going to kill you!"

"Aw, look at him cry." Keith trailed a finger down the line of a tear and he licked it off his fingertip. Eyes half closed and he made an awful, erotic sound. Blood and tears had always turned him on. And he was laughing. Laughing at him. Laughing at Brayden.

"This is all so very... cute," Keith said, spitting the word cute out like it tasted rotten on his tongue. "But it's time... for the harvest. I've been waiting so long for this moment. Thankfully, my little Ripper here can't resist a pure little thing... like... you."

"Brayden, Brayden, please, he's going to kill you."

"He's right, you know. I am going to kill you. And I will devour your pure little soul."

"Ngghhh..." Jack made another valiant--and vain--attempt at getting up. It was like trying to push an unmoving boulder. But his hands... His hands could move. Presently, they were shaking, grasping at the earth beneath him. He reached up. Grabbed onto one of Keith's legs. Keith didn't even kick it off. His pure hatred was all focused on Brayden at the moment. He sliced through the air again with another one of those whiplike spells. Then he kicked Jack, squarely in the chest so that he fell onto his back. But he didn't let go of his hair, no. He pulled him forward with him as he moved toward Brayden.

Another of those slashes and the blood spattered across Jack's face. Shock coursed through his entire body and he convulsed, kicking at the dirt.

"Brayden..."

Keith reached out and made a squeezing motion with his hand.

"I will suffocate you, tear you into shreds, and devour you," he reiterated to Brayden. "I've never tasted another fairy before so this... will be... interesting."

No.

For so much of his life, Bray ran. He ran from his feelings, from social obligations, ran away from people who tried to get close to him because he was afraid that if they got too close, when--not if--they left they would open the hole in his heart even more. Yet, he couldn't help himself. People got close; some left, some stayed. It was never a guarantee who would be here one day, gone the next, and Bray... he was always afraid, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With Jack, there was no fear. No, there was... some strange kind of power. He was emboldened in Jack's presence, he could be brave and silly and affectionate. He could be all the things that he saw in others that he had never discovered in himself. And tonight, he was brave. He could be brave because this was the time, if ever there was one, to shed his fear and to shine.

The air around him trembled even as he trembled, as he gathered up every drop of magic in the air, in the trees. Here he had the advantage--he had his wings. He was still connected to nature and to the earth, to the living things that existed all around them. A Fallen like Keith--for he was, indeed, a Fallen--couldn't draw upon that power. The power of life. All he had was death at his back, forming the black void where something wonderful used to be.

"You won't!" Bray's voice returned. It was forceful, like the time he said no in the cafe to a threesome, like that moment in the park when he told Jack that he needed to remember--Bray was here for him. He was here and he wasn't going away. He wasn't backing down from someone without a shred of light in him. Darkness could never defeat the light; it was banished at the smallest ray of illumination.

The light shone and shone, shimmered and shivered. Bray weathered the cuts and the slashes, the attacks that beat at him and tore at his clothes, rent his flesh, drew blood. Warm blood seeped down his body from a dozen cuts but he didn't stop gathering magic, didn't stop storing it up and up and up, up and over his threshold. The things Keith were saying, the cruelty he showed to Jack, it made Bray angry. Well and truly angry--and that was very, very rare.

"He--Jack is... is mine!"

Jack didn't belong to anyone but if he had to--if he absolutely had to--then he belonged to Bray. Not to this monstrosity that called himself a fairy. He wasn't fit to speak the name! Making deals with devils, giving away all that was pure and good in him in exchange for power, that was vile. Evil. He didn't deserve someone as warm and sweet, funny, tender, loving and caring as Jack.

He was at his limit now, he could feel it. Keith kept gloating, licking his lips as if he could taste Bray's soul, advancing and dragging Jack with him by the hair. Bray's body, his wings, they were in tatters but--he had enough power. And he unleashed it, a hurricane of light and life, desperation and love. It swept through the trees with physical force, shoving Keith back and consuming him in a blinding, brilliant white light that illuminated the night. The stars above vanished. Everything was white, fire, heat and silence.

"My little Bee. Did you bring a friend this time?"

He was back at his mother's feet again, sitting staring up at her with his wide, brown eyes. Brown-gold eyes, flecked with magic. Bray smiled and looked over at the other young boy with him, one with curly dark hair and sparkling hazel eyes and a mischievous mouth. "His name is Jackie, mama."

He was going to die. He was going to die before they even really had a chance to be anything. He was going to die because he knew Jack, because Jack fell hopelessly, foolishly, recklessly in love with him. Even though he knew--thought--there was a sickening darkness growing inside of him. But it was never him. It was planted there. All this time...

They never got to be anything. Jack couldn't stop the emotions now that his armor had fallen from his heart. All he could think was did he know did he know did he know how much how true how how how... His smile and his laugh and his confusion, that look he got on his face when he was trying to decide if Jack was being serious, when he couldn't tell he was being flirted with. Just that morning, he saw that look. Just that morning, he saw that smile. Heard that laugh.

His blood was on his face, on his chest. He couldn't handle it.

The joy and relief, the lightness he felt when it dawned on him that he wasn't a killer after all. He never even got to explain himself. Brayden wasn't in love with a murderer. Jack... did he... could he... maybe did he deserve Brayden after all? His eyes closed painfully. Brayden. Wonderful, soft, awkward, stubborn, hopeful, uplifting Brayden.

"...b-brayden... please..."

For some reason, Brayden wasn't stopping. It was that stubbornness. That loyalty. That... love. Jack's eyes cracked open but it was so hard when he was so full up on erratic, uncontrollable emotion. Keith's oily, harsh laugh echoed in his ears.

But then...

Jack is... is mine!

No... What was he doing? Brayden... he was so... so self-sacrificing for the people he loved. And Jack knew that meant him. And that meant... it meant... No...

The tight hand in his dark curls loosened finally and then let go. Jack's head smacked hard against the ground, enough to taste blood where he'd bitten the inside of his cheek. Through half closed eyes, he saw the blinding light and it blinded him too. He closed his eyes even as he took in a hard, painful breath.

And when he opened his eyes.

The woman in front of them was beautiful. Her smile was gentle, her eyes warm. Her eyes were so like... so like his. Jack stared too. Then he lifted his hand, a little dazed, a little confused. "Hi."

The armor was just being built at this age. But he usually rolled with the punches. He smiled that mischievous smile. "I'm Jack. Or... Jackie," he said with a nonchalant shrug, "whatever." He looked at her longer. "Mrs. Smith?" He didn't know why he knew that name. He just knew it. And for some reason, he also knew he really, really wanted her to give him a big hug.

"You can call her mom, too," Bray whispered secretively to Jackie--Jack. He scooted closer and smiled as his mother's gentle, soft hands reached down. One hand slipped over his own brown hair--longish even back then--and one over the dark nest of wavy curly hair. "She makes good soup."

His mother laughed, the sound soothing and calming like waves lapping up onto an empty beach, or the wind weaving through full treetops. "Have you two been good? Hm?" The slow stroking motions of her hands continued. "Have you been good to each other?"

"...yep!" Bray nodded emphatically. "Jackie's my best friend! Right Jackie?"

Bray's wings closed over them as he slumped over Jack, shielding him from the darkness that tried to bury them alive. He groaned, tasting blood, tasting tears. Magic. His body was nearly at its limit now, and what little magic he had left in him, he was using to keep Jack safe. Keith wasn't dead but he was no longer attacking them. Something else was--the darkness that released from his body when Bray's magic tore him apart.

"Hang on Jack," he whispered brokenly as he held Jack tight.

Love.

He felt something like this before. Brayden. But this was a different kind of love. It was the kind of love Jack missed out for his whole life, while constantly seeking it out. He saw it in teachers. He saw it in a nice old lady neighbor. He saw it in her. He felt it, more importantly. He felt it to his core when she touched his head. Jack closed his eyes like a contented cat.

Had they been good to each other? Young Jack didn't even know. Were they? He looked over at little Brayden. Was he as good as he could be? Could he be better? For some reason, he reached out so that his hand slipped into Brayden's.

"My best friend," he echoed, as if tasting the words for the first time.

Then everything hurt again. The golden glow that enveloped him was gone now. There was only biting cold wind and the distant howl of wolves. Hard dirt beneath him. Something warm above him. Jack's tired eyes looked up at Brayden, his shield when his armor wasn't enough.

"...what's happening?" he asked blearily. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth and he could taste the blood from his bitten cheek. Somewhere too close for comfort, he felt... that thick oily darkness that he had always thought was his own sickness. That when he got close to somebody, it took over, made him do terrible, horrific, and unspeakable things to the people who least deserved it.

Blindly, he reached for a hand to clasp onto.

"Brayden?"

Now he was fucking dead.

Marge stomped on his head one more time for good measure, just to be sure. "Mother... fucker..." She kicked him in the temple. Okay she lied--this was the last one. No... no one more. Okay two more. Yeah now he was well and truly dead.

She'd come running when Jack stopped responding to her texts and didn't pick up her calls. Jack always picked up--always. And the things he said before he went silent already unsettled Marge, so it didn't take much for her to drive over. She drove like a madwoman too, nearly running a few people--definitely running a ton of animals over who weren't expecting her to charge down the highway so fast.

The magic in the air was so strong that it almost choked her. She saw the blinding light, then saw it collapsing in on itself. When she sprinted up the path she saw some fucker attacking Jack and Brayden, lashing at them with magic while Brayden huddled over Jack's prone form. Someone--Brayden?--had already almost torn the man completely in two but he kept mindlessly attacking, kept standing there like some fucked-up magically infused puppet on a string. Pure, seething rage took over in that moment and Marge did something she hadn't done for a long time--lose total control.

Those were the two people she happened to love. Nobody was taking them from her--but nobody. Her magic wove through the air and struck the stranger through the heart. Heart magic, used to see into others' intentions, became a physical force. She squeezed--popped his fucking heart like a bad zit. And then the darkness bled away, into the forest surrounding them.

"Jack!" Marge ran over just in time to catch Brayden as he fell, cold and pale. Dead? No! Marge's jaw tightened as she slapped his face a few times, cradling him in her arms. Jack seemed okay--relatively speaking. Dazed, sure. Covered in blood but it didn't seem to be all his. But Brayden... Bee... "Fuck. Fuck. Bee wake up! Wake up! What the fuck happened Jack? Are you okay? Bee!"

The thick, oily feeling in the air was gone. It was gone. Jack looked up to see Marge--his gorgeous, sassy, take-no-shit, tough-as-nails best friend in all her glory--and she was wild with anger. Jack knew she had a temper. He just never saw it taken to this level of extremes.

And he didn't blame her at all.

"Margie! Brayden, he's..."

She caught him before Jack could and he looked... he looked not good. Pale as death. Death. His eyes were closed but Jack trembled with the memory of so many others staring back with glassy eyes, no life left inside them. His heart hammered in his chest and his throat closed up.

"Brayden," he choked. Not even Marge's slaps could rouse him. He didn't move, didn't so much as twitch. Something was... wrong. Really... wrong. He... he really did it. He... died. For him. Jack choked again on his own emotion, leaning forward to grasp the front of Brayden's shirt, to touch his face, his hair. "No.... no... B... don't do this to me. Don't leave me... I need you, B. I love you..."

He could never go back after this. Ever. It was just too much. His unarmored heart was breaking down into a million little pieces and he would never be able to put it all back together again. He wasn't breathing. Jack's heart plummeted down, down, down. He wanted to die, too. To die with him.

"I think I saw him die," he whispered. "I saw his... his mom."

In that moment, that brief moment, they were connected at the soul level. And then... Jack had been ejected and Brayden... had not. He placed a quivering hand over Brayden's heart. "It can't end this way... we were only just beginning..."

No! Brayden couldn't be dead, he just couldn't. Marge tried to feel for a pulse, pressing her fingers to the side of his neck. Nothing. His skin was cold and clammy and he was unresponsive even to Jack's frantic cries. Marge shook him gently but that, like the slaps, didn't do much.

"Get him in the car." Marge was hard-pressed to stay calm but one of them had to be. They couldn't both freak out! She tried to gather Brayden up, grappling with his lifeless arms and legs to cooperate. There was the tiniest, weakest flicker of light in his chest that responded to the touch of Jack's hand. "He's not dead," she grunted as she tried to get to her feet, "but if we don't hurry and get him some help, he will be."

They needed a magical healer for this, Marge thought. Normal hospitals were ill-equipped to heal magical wounds, or to bring Brayden's soul back into his body. Marge saw the state of his wings, too, how limp they were, how that asshole had slashed through them—slashed right down to the bone, down to the very essence of what a fairy was. Those wings had to be fixed too, which meant that they needed a fairy healer.

"I know a guy... We have to hurry, Jack, before Bee's light goes out!"

"Right. Right...!"

Jack couldn't just fall all apart. He didn't know if it was worth hoping but he had little choice to hope with all of his heart. Marge tried to lift Brayden up but he seemed too heavy for her; she couldn't be more than 100 lbs, maybe 110 lbs, soaking wet. No way was she carrying Brayden on her own.

"I got him, don't worry."

Jack carefully hefted Brayden in his arms, holding him close to his chest. All he wanted to do was break down, to numb all this pain that welled up inside. But there was another, stronger part of him that was determined to do something about this. He couldn't lose Brayden. He wouldn't let that bastard win, he wouldn't let Brayden go. He kissed his forehead, his heart so, so heavy.

"Let's go, go."

It wasn't easy, hiking back down the ridge with a man in his arms. Jack should have been weak, exhausted as he was. Emotionally, physically. But there was that newfound strength that came with moments like this. The strength of a mother lifting a car off her child. It was that kind of strength and it was keeping Jack going, forward, forward. No going backward.

As soon as he saw the car, he marched straight for it. Almost half ran for it, then thought better of it, in case he ended up slipping and throwing Brayden. But he was quick on his feet. As soon as the back door was opened, he packed Brayden inside, then slid in behind him, resting Brayden's head in his lap. His heart wouldn't stop racing. It hadn't stopped since that vision of what really happened to Andy Davis.

A shaking hand stroked Brayden's hair. His eyes still refused to open. He still didn't move. It didn't look like he was breathing. Did his heart have a beat? Marge said he wasn't dead. The only thing he could do was hold onto Brayden and hope she was right.

"He's heavier than he looks," Marge remarked as she ran for the car after Jack, passing the mangled corpse of whatever asshole decided to fuck with her best friends that night. "Needs to lay off the soup." Oh that damned soup. Brayden couldn't die—who the fuck would make soup like that for them? She never even learned his secret! It was the one time he actually defied her and stood up to her, which was impressive in and of itself given how hard he liked to bend over backwards for everyone else.

Back in the car, she turned the key in the ignition, back up over what sounded like a rabbit or a rat, and drove like a bat out of hell back into town. "I know this fairy, he... he's what they call a fixer. Got healing magic coming out his ass. But he's annoying as fuck so I try not to go to him too often." This was an emergency though—Brayden's life was on the line.

Poor, sweet Bee. Marge glanced into her rearview mirror at his pale face, and his blood-soaked body. He looked so small and so fragile in that moment that it broke her heart. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel as she drove faster and faster back into the town proper. "What the fuck happened back there Jack?"

Annoying or not, if the guy could fix Brayden, Jack would lick his damned feet for life if he had to. (Not really but...) Brayden wasn't improving in the least. Jack kept hoping he would suddenly stir, or sit up, gasping. Anything to show that he was here with them--with him--alive. And what would have happened if they just sat there stargazing, without knowing? If they didn't talk about... it? The hideous secret Jack had hung onto like poison to his soul for decades? If Brayden didn't open his eyes?

It could have been worse. Could it be worse?

Jack kept whispering to him. Holding him to his chest, like he thought maybe if Brayden could hear his heart beating for him that it might bring him back to life. And he kept telling him that he promised--god, he promised he would never ever hurt him--and that he loved him and please, please, Brayden, please wake up.

"That person," he spat, "Keith Hargrove, or whatever his real name is. He was my ex. My first boyfriend, a long time ago. I thought he died, but apparently he faked his own death, I don't know what the fuck he was thinking. But he's been... killing everybody I date. All this time, I thought it was me... He said he was a fairy, Marge... but he... he was nothing like Brayden."

"That was no fucking fairy," Marge spat as she blew past a stop sign—a mere suggestion in the moment, really. "So that asshole's been... what?  Stalking you and killing everyone you dated? Jesus talk about being fucked up in the head." Well, no more—she stomped his head more than a couple of times to flatten it out good. That creep deserved so much more, she thought, for doing what could only be described as inhuman things. Tormenting Jack like that, how obsessed was he?

But Marge recalled the black magic in the air and frowned at the road ahead. "So what? He followed you two out there to kill Bee? Why? It's not like killing him would've gotten you back."

In no world could Marge imagine Jack being with a deranged lunatic like that, especially not one who hurt innocent Bee. Bee who gave up his life to save Jack, in the ultimate form of sacrifice. Marge slammed a fist against the steering wheel. They couldn't lose Bee. They just couldn't!

"What made you realize he was the one? That asshole I mean. That he did the killing and not you?"

No, he sure didn't seem like one. There was something much more dangerous about him. Maybe that was how fairies were. Maybe he was a different kind. Weren't there dark fairies? But whatever that... thing... was, he wasn't and never would be a match for somebody as sweet as Brayden. And maybe that bothered him. But it didn't mean he had to go around killing them!

"Apparently he's been in Hazleton for a while. He disguised himself as somebody named Phil and tried to ask Brayden out a few months ago. He must have been stalking him... us... for months."

God. He shivered at the thought of Keith being in Hazleton this whole time. The whole time. And he'd even tried to get Brayden alone... What was he planning to do with him then? Kill him. Jack couldn't even swallow past the lump of emotions in his throat.

Jack kept looking at Brayden. Kept waiting. But he was... so cold. His body was no longer as warm as it once was. His face... felt so wrong. Like it was really true. That the life had been drained from him. Jack tried to warm him, caressing his face, his chest. Baby B. BB. His Brayden. And Jack was his. His. He only looked up because Marge struck her steering wheel in rage.

"Oh, that... Remember I told you that I told B? About... everything? We both had this mental breakdown. He held me... and I held him..." His gaze grew far away, as if the recent events were years past. "I closed my eyes and this... vision... it was so vivid. And it contradicted everything that I knew about the first--the first... murder. It was like... Brayden opened my eyes to the truth. But I don't think he knows. I don't know if he ever will." His voice broke at the last part. "He wanted to save me... he wanted to fix things and we didn't think that he could. And he did. He really did."

"That sick FUCK!" Marge's car was not the place for innocent ears, no. That sick fuck tried to get Brayden all alone? No doubt to hurt him. It made her hot with rage to think about someone exploiting their little Bee in that manner, to get to Jack in order to fuck him up even more. Using one to get to the other, and both of them were only trying to build some sort of relationship and life together—with no small investment of time and energy from Marge herself. Not to mention a bottle of very expensive red wine.

She heard Jack murmuring to Brayden in the back, saw him holding him so carefully like he was made of glass. B, B, he kept saying, whispering promises that Brayden couldn't hear, touching his cold, blood-stained face, smoothing back his hair. Marge's heart couldn't take any more of it. The lovers that were supposed to be pure and beautiful in the depth of emotion the had for each other... ruined by some fucking obsessed fairy who didn't know how to take no for an answer. She should've stomped his balls while she was out there too.

"Can't be the fairy jizz," Marge muttered to herself. So Jack had a vision... days after he's swallowed all of it. Then that ability was all his, wasn't it? Unless Brayden was so powerful... But look at him. Stuttering, shy, withdrawn little Bee who could barely look people in the eye, how could he be that powerful? He didn't even look like a fairy. If Marge didn't know, she would've thought he was just an ordinary human.

"Don't give up yet. The fixer, he'll... he'd better fix our Bee." Marge's tone was dark, grim, steely. The car swerved around a corner and skidded to a halt in front of a row of perfectly ordinary, cookie-cutter houses. She pointed to one. "That one. Let me do the talking, okay?" She got out hurriedly and marched up to the door and kicked on it hard. "Open the fucking door John!"

A light turned on inside at her repeated kicking. The door soon opened to a sleepy man pushing glasses up over the bridge of his nose. "Marge?" He scratched at the sandy blond stubble across his jaw, eyes flickering from Marge to Jack to— "HOLY SHIT!" He tried to slam the door shut but Marge had a foot in there and shoved it back open.

"Get inside Jack. Get in," She muttered hurriedly, as John stumbled back, staring at Brayden as though he was seeing a ghost.

Jack fully agreed. Keith was a sick fuck. He'd always been... odd. Jack never knew, of course, that he was a fairy. Was he always like this? Dark? Was he once like Brayden? No. He was never like Brayden. He used to get pleasure out of kicking the shit out of Jack.

"I saw that, you know."

"Saw what?" Jack said, taking another drag from his cigarette. They were under the bleachers, their favorite place to hang out when they were ditching a class together. This was before Harvard, when he started wearing all the fine, dandy frippery that he would later become quite famous for. Now it was just typical high schooler shit--hoodies and ripped jeans.

"I saw you out back giving that fucker Derek a blow job."

Jack rolled his eyes. "That was a week ago and I only did it for the cocaine." He flicked his ashes pointedly. "Cocaine you had no problem snorting with me, as I recall."

A backhand so hard across the face that the corner of lip bled. Jack dropped his cigarette and swore.

"Don't get smart with me, asshole." Keith bent down to pick up the cigarette. It was still lit. He took a long drag from it and purposely blew the smoke into Jack's face. "Don't forget. You. Belong. To. Me."

"What does it mean..." he started to ask Marge--what did it mean for a fairy to say that? To say that a human belonged to them? But there was no time for that. They were here and there was no time to fuck around. As soon as the car stopped, Jack was out, pulling Brayden with him, cradling him close as he hurried to follow Marge to the door. It didn't surprise him at all that she'd scream at the door and give it a good, hard kick.

The guy--John--didn't seem all that amenable to having guests, especially when he saw Brayden but too late for that. They were coming in whether he liked it or not. If he was their last chance, then this was where they had to be. Jack pushed through the door and inside. Nobody had to tell him twice.

"Why did you bring him here?"

"What? Because he's dying you fucking idiot," Marge hissed as John latched onto her arm, trying to stop her from invading his house. "You have to fix him."

"Him?! Fix HIM?!" John whisper-screamed. "The PRINCE of FAIRIES?! ME FIX HIM?"

"...what?" Marge did stop now, staring at John who was perspiring heavily. He wiped the corner of his long pajama sleeve over his forehead and swore under his breath, looking anxiously at Brayden and then at Jack, and finally back at Marge.

"The fucking prince of fucking dream fae! That guy!" He pointed at Brayden. "He can't be here! Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if they found out he's here at my house, half-dead?"

Marge punched him square in the jaw. To calm him down. "Fix him. NOW. John."

He gave her a ridiculously injured look and then scuttled after Jack, instructing him to lay Brayden down onto the living room couch. "Fuck fuck fuck." That was all he seemed to know how to say as he bustled around, grabbing things out of cupboards and drawers, conjuring them out of the air and laying all sorts of weird looking instruments onto the coffee table.

Marge took Jack's arm and led him over to the small loveseat facing the couch that Brayden was draped across. She sat down and pulled him down with her so that they could both watch John. "He says... Bee is... royalty, apparently. Did you know this?" Marge sounded calm but she was flipping her shit. Bee? Royalty? Prince? None of those words fit together into any recognizable sentence.

Half-deliriously she added, "You swallowed royal magical fairy jizz baby."

"What? He did?" John straightened, looking startled. "Not all of it!"

"Yup. All of it."

"Jesus fuck a donkey!"

Huh? Jack stared at John uncomprehendingly. Prince? Of dream fae? That was a thing? They had princes? Like... royalty? Jack didn't know what to make of it. It didn't really even matter if Brayden never woke up. With some reluctance, he did as he was told, not really wanting to let go of him. Somehow, he felt like holding him would keep him with him. Obviously, that wasn't the case or he'd be awake by now.

With even more reluctance, he allowed himself to be pulled away and sank down into the loveseat with Marge. His gaze moved from Brayden to whatever John was doing. And then back again, because he couldn't stop looking at Brayden, whose face seemed to be growing more and more ashen as he watched. Jack wrung his hands together, leaning forward. Fuck.

"No," he said in an emotionless tone. "He never told me."

Apparently there was still a lot left to uncover between them. So many things they never got to share. Jack wanted to know more, about Brayden, about his family, about his culture. He wanted... to just belong to him, to a family. He lowered his gaze. Fuck, he was so tired of that burning sensation behind his eyes. It just kept prickling at him, coming and going with every new thought or emotion.

He let out a little snort at Marge's comment. Yeah, he did, didn't he? Royal fairy jizz. He wished he could find it funny but absolutely nothing was funny to him at the moment.

Eyeing John as he swore, Jack self consciously adjusted his tie. Not that it mattered. He was a goddamn mess. His hair was sticking up all over the place--he was lucky he even had any hair left after Keith fucked with it so much. And his clothes were covered in dirt and twigs.

"What? Is that some kind of taboo? I like sucking dick, all right? I don't judge you for your kinks." Not that he knew the guy's kinks but he wouldn't. Probably.

"John will fix him, don't worry," Marge murmured to Jack as she slipped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer so that he could rest his messy head against her if he wanted. She was worried too—almost to death—but she couldn't let Jack see that. It would only heighten his own fears and concerns, stir him up to a fever pitch. That didn't do anybody any good.

But her heart trembled any time Josh went near Brayden, any time he so much as muttered something in that weird-ass fae language of theirs. A fae prince... Bee. Nope. Still didn't make any sense to her. Brayden was... Brayden. He wasn't some hoity toity royalty wearing crowns and pretending he was better than everyone by birthright. He was Bee, down to earth and mild-mannered and kind, encompassing everyone in his light whether he knew it or not. He was so lovable; was it any small wonder that Jack and Marge both fell in love with him?

"No, no, sucking dick is... is great. If you like it, you should suck as many as you want!" John was quick to reassure Jack. He seemed to realize how stupid he sounded, though, opened his mouth as if to apologize, shook his head and went back to what he was doing—cleaning Brayden up with some kind of green-tinged oil that absorbed right away into Brayden's skin. Brayden was naked now, having had all of his tattered clothes removed. Marge was heartened to see that where the oil soaked into him, the flesh began to knit and repair itself.

But his wings... they still looked horrible. And their color was faded, like a page of colorful drawings left out in the sun too long where the colors receded into pastels.

Marge shook her head. "The thing about swallowing all of it is... It's a little. A lot. Almost guaranteed to be addictive. You know the fairy dust I told you about? That's mostly magical runoff, you know, whatever's left after they cast their spells. Their cum is like concentrated magic. So think about a thousand times stronger than the fairy dust. Most people pass out from just a taste." And Jack swallowed... all of it.

Jack watched the guy like a hawk, ready to spring up if anything didn't look right. If Brayden was in pain! Or if he woke up at all. He was ready. But so far, nothing. Brayden just laid there, unmoving. Even Marge's words weren't as much comfort as he wished they were. Who was this guy, anyway? And how would he do it? Could he even do it? His lack of confidence and conniption fit earlier didn't bode well. What if they brought him to the wrong guy? What if they were wasting time here and they were losing Brayden with every passing second?

Jesus, he hated being that person. This wasn't his thing, to be Mr. Overthinker. That was Brayden's thing. Jack preferred being more... spontaneous. He wanted things to go back to the flirting and the hand holding and the smiling. He wanted... to be happy again. But if John couldn't fix Brayden... he didn't think he could ever be happy again.

"...I just want the one, thanks," Jack said dryly. But why make such a big deal out of it? So he swallowed some fairy cum. He wondered if Brayden would have let him if he hadn't been drunk, with the way everybody was making a fuss over it. Jack ran his hands over his legs. They felt clammy from anxiety.

"Okay," he said, trying to process what Marge was saying. "You didn't tell me any of this before."

Also. He didn't pass out. In fact, he felt invigorated afterward. They kissed. They cuddled. Jack finally slept without having a nightmare. And then he woke up and had that weird... episode that laid him out on Brayden's couch. He slid his gaze sideways, at Brayden.

"What does it mean? Is anybody going to tell me?"

"You didn't fucking tell me you were going to give him head and swallow all of it," Marge seethed, refusing to take the blame for—whatever happened after Jack swallowed all of that magical royal fairy jizz. "If you had asked me beforehand, I would have told you." 

John was changing oils now, to a sweet-smelling lavender-colored one. He rubbed more of it onto Brayden and some of that pale color faded. His skin slowly turned back to a more normal peach-pink color, although it still looked papery and unnatural. Thin. Like they could almost see the blood vessels underneath, see the machinations of his organs turning and working away to restore him from the inside.

"Most people who swallow all of it explode," John said matter-of-factly. "They can't contain that much magic. Humans. Hooo, you don't want to see what it does to them. So. I don't know. You might be fae too. That's the only explanation I can think of for why you're still here and not exploded in a million pieces." John paused in his ministrations to look Jack over. "You might be like him. Royal. They're the only ones capable of handling so much magic, to be honest. Most of the rest of us just dance around with our pretty wings and do party tricks."

Marge let out a furious noise. "And you're telling us this NOW?" She screamed at John, who threw up his oily hands.

"That's literally what HE just said to YOU, Marge!"

Jack threw his hands up into the air. Well, what the hell was he supposed to do if he didn't know a thing was a thing?! He didn't know fairies were a thing and then they were. And then there were all these mysteries about them and what the hell was Keith and why did he touch Brayden's wings and why did he think it was such a great idea to go down on him and was he going to die, too? Because he didn't know if he could handle bringing Brayden back just to die on him because of fancy fairy cum!

"...he never said anything, either," Jack mumbled, crossing his arms and his legs and trying his best to gather some dignity back. But Brayden was drunk and he just... he wanted it. And Jack did, too, thank you very much. He could still taste him, when he thought about it. He guessed he should have realized how different it was. Taste. Texture. But he was a little tipsy, too, at the time.

With some relief, Jack watched as at least some of Brayden's color seemed to be returning. He wanted to go over, to touch him, to feel him, to make sure he was warm again. The feeling of his cold skin scared him more than he wanted to admit even to himself. Death had been haunting him for so long. He couldn't seem to outrun it. If only... he didn't fall in love with Brayden. Then Brayden never would have become a target...

"What?"

Jack tilted his head up. John said it like it was everyday knowledge. People exploded. From fairy cum...? Because of all that magic. Shit. Jack ran a hand over his throat. But it had been some time ago... Nothing happened to him. Except those weird visions.

"No, I'm... pretty sure I'm human."

What else could he be? Fae, John said. He wanted to scoff at the idea. Jack didn't have wings or magic. He was just some kid that grew up in the slums of Boston and ended up in this tiny town. Where he thought he had finally found home. Friends. His new life. He thought it was finally beginning.

"I don't understand. How would a... fae... not know they were a fae? Wouldn't the wings and magic be a dead giveaway?"

"No," Marge and John said at the same time. Marge waved her hand for John to continue, since he was fucking professor fairy expert over here. Well, he was, actually—he was a verified expert on them. Plus he was one himself, though to look at him, most people would only think he was an unshaven dork with a bit of a belly. But he knew what he was doing when it came to healing fae and Brayden already looked so much better than he did only half an hour ago.

"Your wings can be hidden by glamor. That's like uh. Camouflage for fae. If someone powerful casts it on you, it can hide your wings for...ever, basically. Most fae kids learn to dispel the glamor their parents cast as a rite of passage, if you will. The magic is taught, so if nobody taught you any and your glamor's still in place, well. You just think you're human."

"There's a way to get rid of the glamor isn't there?" Marge looked Jack up and down thoughtfully. Reached out to smooth and neaten his hair. No excuse to look scruffy just because he'd been through hell and back, was there?

"Yeah but... it takes a lot of jizz to do that." John's smile was mildly wry, also teasing. "Okay gotta focus on this one folks. Gimme a couple minutes here." He switched to an aquamarine oil and began to massage Brayden's wings with it, muttering spells all the while. Behind him, wings flickered in and out of existence as he channeled magic, deep green marbled with gold and silver veins.

Marge slid a hand over Jack's back. "Wonder what yours would look like, baby. We should give it a try once Bee's better."

Okay. That was a no from them both.

Jack tried to imagine himself with wings. It felt... absurd. But also... he was interested. So there was no way he was human, then? That didn't make sense. His parents were both human as hell. He could not imagine either of them as fairies. Not even the dark kind, because as much as he hated growing up the way he did, Jack didn't hate his parents. That was why it hurt so much not to be loved back. He loved them; he just wanted them to love him, too. But they weren't innately evil or anything.

Could the dark ones even have babies? Jack had a headache (partly because of all that hair pulling, of course) and he didn't know how much more of this he could take before he passed out. He ran the hand that was on his throat up to his temple and massaged it, closing his eyes.

"Is that a joke?" he asked. "Or do I need to suck dick again? Because I, for one, am not opposed to this plan."

He opened his eyes, watching John work on Brayden, who seemed to really making some kind of recovery.

"Assuming, of course, that you fix my boyfriend..."

He sighed and looked to Marge as she slid her hand over his back. Then he glanced behind him, as if he could somehow see what wasn't there. Or what was hidden. So strange, thinking of himself with wings.

"Honestly," he told her, "I can't even imagine. I've seen what... this guy and Brayden. And you're telling me they're all different? Like a fairy fingerprint?" He fell silent. Then, "If they're some hideous color combination that doesn't go with any of my outfits, Marge..."

He had to be shallow right now. Because if he wasn't, he was going to fall apart at the seams.

"Then you get to go shopping for clothes that do match your hideous new wings, baby," Marge cooed over him, sensing the freak-out coming and trying to head it off at the pass. She knew it was a lot to take in. Jack lived his whole life believing that there was nothing out there except humans, that fairies and fairy jizz and super powers were nothing more than pipe dreams. Then to find that not only was all of that real, but that he was part of it all...

It was a real mind fuck.

"Hey. Let me show you something." She took his hand in hers. "Look at Bee."

Sharing her powers and letting it flow down to their joined hands, she hoped that Jack could see it—the light growing inside of Brayden, the more John worked on him. That light had been so dim before that it scared her. It looked like one bad jolt and it would snuff out, like a reedy candle at the end of its life. But now it was growing and gaining strength.

"See that? His light? I think he'll be okay, Jack. Isn't that great?" Hopefully seeing that could help him keep himself together long enough. For Brayden. For their beloved Bee.

Oh yes. New wardrobe to go with hideous wings. He wanted to laugh but he was afraid if he started he would start crying next and he was so tired of crying. Marge took his hand--he felt better already. A little. The contact was reassuring. It helped calm him somewhat. But he didn't fully understand what she was doing until she directed him to look over at Brayden. Jack raised his gaze.

"What--" He stared. "What is that?"

It hadn't been there before. Light. He glanced at Marge as she explained it. The light was... not strong but it was getting stronger as he watched. Whatever that John fellow was doing seemed to actually have an effect on Brayden. It was hard to tell without Marge's power; his color had been coming back but other than that, all Jack saw was a too-still Brayden. And that led to him thinking of the blood... Jack looked down at his front. It was still there. Touched his face with his free hand. Couldn't tell if it was there but...

He had to take in a long breath and hold it for a moment. Let it out. Slow and easy. Look at the light. The light was getting stronger. That meant Brayden was getting stronger, too. He was in there... Or... he was in that place with his mother, that place that Jack accidentally peeked in on and was subsequently ejected from. He was in some kind of... dream.

"He's going to wake up, right?" he whispered, drawing Marge's hand to his chest and holding it there with his other hand sliding over it.

"That's Bee. He's fighting to come back to us, baby."

And if Brayden fought so hard for them—to keep Jack safe—then the least they could do was to fight for Brayden. Fight to hold on to their sanity, to rein in the emotions that threatened to spiral out of control. Fight to hope and to believe that Brayden would come back to them, safe and sound, whole and happy. His light was growing and Marge just knew that wherever he was, Brayden was doing his best to get back to them, to the land of the living where his beloved friends and family and boyfriend were.

"I'm sure he'll come back. But we... we have to be strong for him." She clasped her free hand with Jack's, over his chest where she could see his light flickering too. Had Jack looked down at himself? Did he notice how his light shone with the same color as Brayden's? Or how every time Brayden's light flickered, his did too? Two hearts that beat as one—two hearts joined and so in synch that their lights even shone together. That was true love.

John kept working away with his colored oils and his muttered spells. He looked tired but he didn't stop—and Marge wouldn't have let him stop for anything, not even a bathroom break. Eventually he sat back on the coffee table, facing Brayden, whose light was much stronger and much steadier. "Well. I've done all I can folks. The rest is up to him." He turned back to look at them with a crooked smile. "You can come over and talk to him, if you want. I gotta get something to drink. I'll be right back."

Marge gently nudged Jack. "Go on. He's waiting for you."

That light was B. It was him. His soul or his heart. Something like that. His essence. It was pretty though. Mesmerizing, even in its weakened state. And when he looked down at his own chest, he was somewhat startled to see that there was a light there, too. And in Marge. The fairy fixer. Did everybody have these? And why... did it seem like his and Brayden's were... connected? Not like the stars in the sky with Brayden's lines. Just... the same rhythm, the same color... Was that normal?

He kept his hand where it was, with Marge's.

Jack was pretty accustomed to fear. It permeated his existence from day one. Fear of not surviving into the next day, fear of not being loved, fear of being loved. Keith created that last one, the cruel bastard. Jack wanted--in his nature, in his core--to love people and embrace them. But after what happened to Andy--what he thought he did--the fear spiked and only grew. But innately, his nature was still to embrace people. He couldn't help it.

For so long, he wondered how he could be so sick with himself and his own actions and still continue doing it. If even his subconscious punished him and destroyed him, even when he tried to shove the events as far down as they could go, why...? Why did he still kill? He tried everything. And he didn't have the knowledge or power to see it before. So he could only conclude that he was sick, that something inside was just inherently broken.

But nature was strong. And his natural inclination to draw people in was so... so... strong. He wanted to be close to people, even though he was afraid to be. Afraid for them, afraid of what it made him into.

The joy of knowing it wasn't true couldn't even be fully embraced because as soon as he knew, Brayden was stolen from him. But there was still somebody to share it with, so he whispered, "I'm not a killer." Because he hadn't been able to say it aloud until now and it was freeing and he needed it.

It felt like the hours stretched into days into weeks into months. Jack felt like they sat there for a lifetime before John announced that he was getting a drink. The rest is up to him.

Jack thought he would leap up and run to him. But walking over to Brayden felt like it was happening in excruciating slow motion. He looked a lot better. But his eyes were still closed and his body so still. Jack dropped to his knees beside him, his hand moving over the place where he could no longer see the light. Not that it wasn't there--just that he didn't have that power. But now he knew it was there, it felt like an indelible part of him. Swallowing back a tide of emotion, his other hand took one of Brayden's.

"Brayden..." He didn't know what to say because there was too much to say. Where did he even begin? Maybe with, "Please... wake up. I can't do this without you. And you... you promised me. You're the one who told me to remember, remember? You said.. you love me. No matter what. And I think you already know this but maybe it bears repeating but I love you too. It sounds crazy but I think a part of me has always loved you. Maybe I was always looking for you, I just didn't know what I was looking for. I didn't know a lot of things. I'm still learning, you know and I want you to show me. I know I'm supposed to be the teacher but..." He half laughed, half sobbed. "You're the one teaching me. So much. More than all this magic shit. Love."

He dropped his head against Brayden's chest. Fucking--he told himself he wasn't going to get all teary-eyed and emotional again. If he thought he was too exhausted or there were none left in him, he was wrong. If Brayden never woke up, Jack didn't think they would ever stop.

"I'm in crazy, stupid love with you, Brayden Smith," he whispered.

"Jackie?"

One moment he was holding Jack's hand, and they were best friends! Oh that filled Bray with so much happiness that he had to laugh out loud. Yes! Yes they were best friends! He went to hug Jack, almost had his small arms around him but then... Jack faded away. He was alone again, but now he was an adolescent, sitting by the edge of a fast-flowing river.

The other boys were already inside splashing around, getting pushed around by the current. Bray cautiously waded in earlier and decided that it was too dangerous. What if it swept him away? He didn't like that ball of tension in his stomach, he didn't like the feeling of giving in to something beyond his control so he stayed on the bank.

"Bray! C'mon in!" Gerald waved to him enthusiastically, with his wet arms glistening in the dappled sunlight. He was grinning and his tousled blond hair was all mussed up but to Bray he looked like a Greek god.

"Ah... n-no I'm okay here, thank you," Bray said quietly, but smiled at Gerald. He thought maybe Gerald looked crestfallen, but then Ali came up behind him and splashed him and with a burst of laughter, they were both gone. Bray looked down at his feet trailing in the ice-cold water.

The water faded. He was sitting on his own couch now, a grown man. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see--Wyatt. Wyatt looked slightly annoyed. "Well, say something Bray, don't just sit there!" he demanded impatiently.

"I... I don't know what to say," Bray replied slowly, hands twisting in his lap. "I guess... I can't..."

"Ugh. You're always like this. This is why it'll never work, Bray. You're cute but you're just so... boring." Wyatt's expression seemed to soften, as though he could tell that he had gone a half step too far. His hand cupped Bray's cheek gently. "Good bye, Bray."

"Good bye, Bray. Good bye... good bye... good bye..."

The words echoed as everything went still and dark. Bray blinked. A door was before him now, and there was light just beyond it. He turned when he heard a soft rustle and then smiled as his mother walked toward him, hand-in-hand with his father. They were both looking at him with tears in their eyes, and yet they looked glad. Bray ran to them and embraced them wordlessly, tears falling down his cheeks.

"Our little Bee. You've finally found your light." His mother's hand was at his head again, stroking his hair, but he was no longer a child.

"Mom... dad... I-I want..." he wanted to be with them so badly that it formed a physical ache. Bray clung to them, felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

"You have a choice to make now, Brayden," he said in his familiar deep, calm voice. "We... love you very much. But this choice is yours to make."

Bray looked over his shoulder at the door again, at the warm golden light behind it. "I... won't see you again, will I? If I go through?" The words stuck in his throat so much he barely croaked them out.

"Yes darling. That's right." His mother kissed him on the cheek. "But I think you don't need us any more."

"I'm in crazy, stupid love with you, Brayden Smith."

"Jack?" Bray's heart pounded in his chest. Jack was behind that door... But his parents--his mother... He felt their hands in his. For a moment he closed his eyes and just absorbed the moment, absorbed their love and support and guidance...



"...ja...ck?"

He wasn't coming back was he?

Who would want to leave that golden place he'd gone to? It was warm, Jack remembered. Bathed in warm, golden light. And his mother was there. Brayden obviously loved and missed her. The way he talked about her made Jack's heart ache and he never even really met her, except maybe in a death dream once.

If he didn't come back

what

what was left

what was the point of living

Jack felt real love and he couldn't imagine living without it. He knew, deep down, Marge was still there. But the pain of severing something bigger than himself that he was just only starting to realize and to grasp onto... It was so all consuming.

Jack always did live in the moment. And this moment was absolute pain.

and pain

could be numbed

in the arms of alcohol and drugs.

Jack didn't want to go back to that. And he
knew
he knew--there was no way to go back after Brayden. There was nothing on hell or heaven or earth or any sideways fairy realm that could soothe this kind of pain.

At first, he thought he only heard his voice in a dream, a remnant of his memory. But he felt the body beneath him stir, as if waking from a deep sleep. Like death. Jack lifted his head, the hope caught in his throat and stopping his heart until it burst into a thousand beats at once.

"Brayden?" He could hardly believe it; it felt too good to be true but then, Brayden had always felt that way to him. His eyes were open. And they were... Brayden's eyes. Not glassy or dead or hollow. Elation effused his entire being as Jack held onto him, touched him, his face--it was warm again--his hair, his chest. He kissed him out of sheer relief. "FUCK you, Brayden! You scared the shit out of me, you ASSHOLE!"

After nearly dying, the first thing Bray woke up to was being kissed and then screamed at and cursed out.

This was not what he wanted to come back to, no sir. Was the door still open? Was it too late to go back?!

"I-I'm sorry?" he said faintly, with a confused look around. This didn't look like the woods or even his own house... Bemused, he touched Jack on the shoulder--Jack who seemed to be having some kind of mental breakdown. But Jack was also relieved and Bray could feel it. He sensed happiness, not real anger, and that happiness was contagious, as it always was. Whenever Jack so much as looked at him, he felt happy; this was no different. And this time Jack was only looking at him, only focused on him. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" Bray's voice was a little hoarse, still weak, but he felt... terrible. Everything hurt. He groaned softly as he tried to put his arms around Jack, as events of the evening filtered through the haze in his mind. "Are we--is he gone?"

Someone touched his head and for a second his heart exploded--he thought it was his mother. But... no. It was Marge, with tears in her eyes, and more curses on her lips. He thought she called him a motherfucking cocksucker, which deliriously he thought was not true because--that was Jack. But oh it was so good to see her again! He reached up to touch her hand and curled his fingers around hers, holding on to the two people he loved most in the world.

"Don't be," Jack said, automatically. Always. Every time Brayden said he was sorry, he was telling him not to be. What did he have to be sorry for? Saving Jack's life? Dying? Jack couldn't even think the word without his mouth going dry, let alone speak it. If he said it aloud, it might happen... again. And he couldn't bear it. Once was more than enough and he preferred never to see it again. Thanks, goodbye.

"I'm fine," Jack said, which now that he thought about it, he probably didn't look fine. Or seem fine. His face had to be absolutely hideous from all the ugly crying he'd done. Marge smoothed his hair earlier but he was still covered in Brayden's blood. And nobody could see it but fuck, Jack's head pounded worse than it ever did during a hangover. Between all the head dragging, hair pulling, and bursts of emotion, he felt like his head was never going to recover.

That didn't matter, though. His head could be permanently damaged for all he cared. As long as Brayden was here--with him, beside him. Jack caressed Brayden's face. He was almost afraid to believe it was true. That he was awake, alive. But he was. He was.

"And he's... gone. You and Margie took care of him." Jack took in a breath, bit his lower lip. His fingertips trailed against the side of Brayden's face. "You... killed yourself... just about. To do it. I was afraid you weren't coming back. But you're here. You're alive. You're back. So I'm fine."

He smiled, a mixture of everything all rolled into his expression. His happiness, his relief, his sadness, his hope. He ran a hand through Brayden's hair. Eyes on him, full to the brim.

"I'm fine."

"Oh..."

That was a lot to take in and digest and unfortunately, Bray was not in a good state of mind or being to do that. He wanted to go back to sleep—to go back to that warm, golden, happy place where his parents were there to reassure him and love him. But... that place was gone now. In his heart, in his mind, he knew it. No matter how much he tried, he could never have their voices back again.

But he had new voices to guide him now. Jack. Marge. They were here, and they were real. He didn't have to go to another realm to find them; they were only ever a call or a message away. Jack lived right across the courtyard from him and Bray could always count on him to be right over if he needed anything. Marge practically lived with Jack these days so... they were there. Always there for him.

"Good. I'm glad you're okay." He turned into Jack's hand and smiled. His eyes were so heavy... Bray sighed and nuzzled against Jack's hand as the world faded away again, back to white. "I... love you," he murmured as exhaustion claimed him.

"We should get him home." Marge's voice sounded far away. "Get a shower, some rest..."

"I love you, too."

He panicked a little, though, as Brayden's eyes closed again. Immediately, he looked over at Marge, hand still there against Brayden's cheek. It was like he thought--irrationally--that if he tried to die again, his hand would be there, warm, keeping him from growing as cold as he was before. But Brayden just seemed to be sleeping. His cheek remained warm. His body still breathed. His heart still beat. Everything was... so alive.

Marge didn't sound or look alarmed either, so Jack could only assume that meant Brayden's heart light (he didn't know what else to call it) was still there and still strong.

"Right..." He looked back down at Brayden, with deep love and affection softening his gaze. "We've all been through hell tonight..."

They could all use a week of showers and rest. Even then, Jack felt like this level of exhaustion would never pass. Sighing, he kept stroking Brayden's cheek with his thumb, reluctant to get up, to get things done. But eventually, he forced his tired, aching body to rise, to lift Brayden oh-so-carefully, and to head to the door with him. Still, he held him like he could break, because a part of Jack was still afraid that he could.

"Thank you~" he sang in a whisper toward John, wherever that fairy man had gone.